AFTERWHILES 


OS.  CALIF.  LIBRARY,  LOS  AHGELES 


Sameu  TBIiifcomS  (gifeg 


NEQHBORLY  POEMS 
SKETCHES  IN  PEOSE  AND 
INTEELUDINQ  VEESES 

AFTEBWHILES 
PIPES  O'  PAN  (Prose  and  Verse) 
EHYMES  OF  CHILDHOOD 
FLYING  ISLANDS  OF  THE 

NIGHT 
GEEEN  FIELDS  AND  SUN- 

NING BBOOKS 
AEMAZINDY 
A  CHILD  -WORLD 
OLD-FASHIONED  SOSES 

(English  Edition) 
THE  GOLDEN  YEAR 

(English  Edition) 
POEMS  HERE  AT  HOME 
BUBA"IYAT  OF  DOC  SIFEBS 
CHILD-RHYMES    WITH 

HOOSIER  PICTURES 
BILEY  LOVE  -LYRICS 

(Pictures  by  Dyer) 


AFTERWHILES 


BY 

JAMES  WHITCOMB  RILEY 


INDIANAPOLIS.  IND..  U.  S.  A. 

THE  BOWEN-MERRILL  COMPANY 


COPTBIOHT  1887, 1898, 

BY 

JAMES  WHITCOMB  RILEY 


Braunworth,  Munn  &  Barber 

Printers  and  Binders 

Brooklyn,  N.  Y. 


TO 
MY  MOTHER  ELIZABETH 


2132565 


CONTENTS 

AFTERWHILES  PAGE 

Proem 3 

HERE  WEISER 7 

THE  BEAUTIFUL  CITY 10 

LOCKERBIE  STREET 13 

DAS  KRIST  KINDEL 15 

ANSELMO 20 

A  HOME-MADE  FAIRY  TALE 21 

THE  SOUTH  WIND  AND  THE  SUN 23 

THE  LOST  Kiss 32 

THE  SPHINX 34 

IF  I  KNEW  WHAT  POETS  KNOW 35 

IKE  WALTON'S  PRAYER 37 

A  ROUGH  SKETCH 40 

OUR  KIND  OF  A  MAN 41 

THE  HARPER 43 

OLD  AUNT  MARY'S 44 

ILLILEO 47 

vii 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  KING 49 

A  BRIDE 51 

THE  DEAD  LOVEB 62 

A  SONG 53 

WHEN  BESSIE  DIED 55 

THE  SHOWER 57 

A  LIFE-LESSON 58 

A  SCRAWL 59 

AWAY 60 

WHO  BIDES  His  TIME 62 

FROM  THE  HEADBOARD  OF  A  GRAVE  IN  PARAGUAY    .    .  64 

LAUGHTER  HOLDING  BOTH  His  SIDES 65 

FAME 66 

THE  RIPEST  PEACH 71 

A  FRUIT-PIECE 72 

THEIR  SWEET  SORROW 74 

JOHN  McKEEN 76 

OUT  OF  NAZARETH 79 

SEPTEMBER  DARK 81 

WE  TO  SIGH  INSTEAD  OF  SING 83 

THE  BLOSSOMS  ON  THE  TREES 85 

LAST  NIGHT— AND  THIS 87 

viii 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

A  DISCOURAGING  MODEL 88 

BACK  FROM  A  TWO-YEARS'  SENTENCE 89 

THE  WANDERING  JEW 91 

BECALMED 94 

To  SANTA  GLAUS 96 

WHERE  THE  CHILDREN  USED  TO  PLAY 98 

A  GLIMPSE  OF  PAN 100 

SONNETS 

PAN 105 

DUSK 106 

JUNE 107 

SILENCE       108 

SLEEP 109 

HER  HAIR 110 

DEARTH       Ill 

A  VOICE  FROM  THE  FARM 112 

THE  SERENADE 113 

ART  AND  LOVE 114 

LONGFELLOW 115 

INDIANA 116 

TIME 117 

GRANT— AT  BEST— AUGUST  8,  1885 119 

ix 


CONTENTS 

IN  DIALECT  *AGK 

OLD-FASHIONED  ROSES 127 

GRIGGSBY'S  STATION 129 

KNEE-DEEP  IN  JUNE 132 

WHEN  THE  HEARSE  COMES  BACK 138 

A  CANARY  AT  THE  FARM 142 

A  Liz-TowN  HUMORIST 144 

KINGRY'S  MILL 146 

JONEY 150 

LIKE  His  MOTHER  USED  TO  MAKB 154 

THE  TRAIN-MISSER 156 

GRANNY      158 

OLD  OCTOBER 160 

JIM 162 

To  ROBERT  BURNS 165 

A  NEW  YEAR'S  TIME  AT  WILLARDS'S 168 

THE  TOWN  KARNTEEL 178 

REGARDIN'  TERRY  HUT 180 

LEEDLE  DUTCH  BABY 183 

DOWN  ON  WRIGGLE  CRICK 185 

WHEN  DE  FOLKS  is  GONE 189 

THE  LITTLE  TOWN  o'  TAILHOLT 191 

LITTLE  ORPHANT  ANNIE 193 

x 


AFTERWHILES 


PROEM 

In  the  shade,  with  thirsty  sight 
Drinking  deep  the  blue  delight 
Of  the  skies  that  will  beguile 
Us  as  children — afterwhile. 

Afterwhile—and  one  intends 
To  be  gentler  to  his  friends ',— 
To  walk  with  them,  in  the  hush 
Of  still  evenings,  o'er  the  plush 
Of  home-leading  fields,  and  stand 
Long  at  parting,  hand  in  hand: 
One,  in  time,  will  joy  to  take 
New  resolves  for  some  one's  sake, 
And  wear  then  the  look  that  lies 
Clear  and  pure  in  other  eyes — 
He  will  soothe  and  reconcile 
His  own  conscience — afterwhile, 

Afterwhile— we  have  in  view 
A  far  scene  to  journey  to, — 
Where  the  old  home  is,  and  where 
The  old  mother  waits  us  there, 
Peering,  as  the  time  grows  late, 
Down  the  old  path  to  the  gate. — 
How  we'll  click  the  latch  that  locks 
In  the  pinks  and  hollyhocks, 
4 


And  leap  up  the  path  once  more 
Where  she  waits  us  at  the  door! — 
How  we'll  greet  the  dear  old  smile, 
And  the  warm  tears — afterwhile! 

Ah,  the  endless  a/terwhiles! — 
Leagues  on  leagues,  and  miles  on  miles, 
In  the  distance  far  withdrawn, 
Stretching  on,  and  on,  and  on, 
Till  the  fancy  is  footsore 
And  faints  in  the  dust  before 
The  last  milestone's  granite  face, 
Hacked  with:    Here  Beginneth  Space. 
O  far  glimmering  worlds  and  wings, 
Mystic  smiles  and  beckonings, 
Lead  us  through  the  shadowy  aisles, 
Out  into  the  afterwhiles. 


HERR  WEISER 

HERR  WEISER  ! — Threescore-years-and-ten, — 
A  hale  white  rose  of  his  countrymen, 
Transplanted  here  in  the  Hoosier  loam, 
And  blossomy  as  his  German  home — 
As  blossomy  and  as  pure  and  sweet 
As  the  cool  green  glen  of  his  calm  retreat, 
Far  withdrawn  from  the  noisy  town 
Where  trade  goes  clamoring  up  and  down, 
Whose  fret  and  fever,  and  stress  and  strife, 
May  not  trouble  his  tranquil  life ! 

Breath  of  rest,  what  a  balmy  gust! — 

Quit  of  the  city's  heat  and  dust, 

Jostling  down  by  the  winding  road, 

Through  the  orchard  ways  of  his  quaint  abode. 

Tether  the  horse,  as  we  onward  fare 

Under  the  pear-trees  trailing  there, 

7 


HERR    WEISER 

And  thumping  the  wooden  bridge  at  night 
With  lumps  of  ripeness  and  lush  delight, 
Till  the  stream,  as  it  maunders  on  till  dawn, 
Is  powdered  and  pelted  and  smiled  upon. 

Herr  Weiser,  with  his  wholesome  face, 

And  the  gentle  blue  of  his  eyes,  and  grace 

Of  unassuming  honesty, 

Be  there  to  welcome  you  and  me ! 

And  what  though  the  toil  of  the  farm  be  stopped 

And  the  tireless  plans  of  the  place  be  dropped, 

While  the  prayerful  master's  knees  are  set 

In  beds  of  pansy  and  mignonette 

And  lily  and  aster  and  columbine, 

Offered  in  love,  as  yours  and  mine? — 

What,  but  a  blessing  of  kindly  thought, 
Sweet  as  the  breath  of  forget-me-not ! — 
What,  but  a  spirit  of  lustrous  love 
White  as  the  aster  he  bends  above! — 
What,  but  an  odorous  memory 
Of  the  dear  old  man,  made  known  to  me 

8 


HERR    WEISER 


In  days  demanding  a  help  like  his, — 
As  sweet  as  the  life  of  the  lily  is — 
As  sweet  as  the  soul  of  a  babe,  bloom- wise 
Born  of  a  lily  in  paradise. 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  CITY 

THE  BEAUTIFUL  CITY  !     Forever 

Its  rapturous  praises  resound ; 
We  fain  would  behold  it — but  never 

A  glimpse  of  its  glory  is  found : 
We  slacken  our  lips  at  the  tender 

White  breasts  of  our  mothers  to  hear 
Of  its  marvellous  beauty  and  splendor ; — 

We  see — but  the  gleam  of  a  tear! 

Yet  never  the  story  may  tire  us — 

First  graven  in  symbols  of  stone — 
Rewritten  on  scrolls  of  papyrus 

And  parchment,  and  scattered  and  blown 
By  the  winds  of  the  tongues  of  all  nations, 

Like  a  litter  of  leaves  wildly  whirled 
Down  the  rack  of  a  hundred  translations, 

From  the  earliest  lisp  of  the  world. 
10 


THE    BEAUTIFUL    CITY 

We  compass  the  earth  and  the  ocean, 

From  the  Orient's  uttermost  light, 
To  where  the  last  ripple  in  motion 

Lips  hem  of  the  skirt  of  the  night, — 
But  the  Beautiful  City  evades  us — 

No  spire  of  it  glints  in  the  sun — 
No  glad-bannered  battlement  shades  us 

When  all  our  long  journey  is  done. 

Where  lies  it?     We  question  and  listen; 

We  lean  from  the  mountain,  or  mast, 
And  see  but  dull  earth,  or  the  glisten 

Of  seas  inconceivably  vast: 
The  dust  of  the  one  blurs  our  vision, 

The  glare  of  the  other  our  brain, 
Nor  city  nor  island  Elysian 

In  all  of  the  land  or  the  main ! 

We  kneel  in  dim  fanes  where  the  thunders 

Of  organs  tumultuous  roll, 
And  the  longing  heart  listens  and  wonders, 

And  the  eyes  look  aloft  from  the  soul: 


n 


THE    BEAUTIFUL    CITY 

But  the  chanson  grows  fainter  and  fainter, 
Swoons  wholly  away  and  is  dead ; 

And  our  eyes  only  reach  where  the  painter 
Has  dabbled  a  saint  overhead. 

The  Beautiful  City !     O  mortal, 

Fare  hopefully  on  in  thy  quest, 
Pass  down  through  the  green  grassy  portal 

That  leads  to  the  Valley  of  Rest ; 
There  first  passed  the  One  who,  in  pity 

Of  all  thy  great  yearning,  awaits 
To  point  out  The  Beautiful  City, 

And  loosen  the  trump  at  the  gates. 


LOCKERBIE  STREET 

SUCH  a  dear  little  street  it  is,  nestled  away 

From  the  noise  of  the  city  and  heat  of  the  day, 

In  cool  shady  coverts  of  whispering  trees, 

With  their  leaves  lifted  up  to  shake  hands  with  the 

breeze 

Which  in  all  its  wide  wanderings  never  may  meet 
With  a  resting-place  fairer  than  Lockerbie  street! 

There  is  such  a  relief,  from  the  clangor  and  din 
Of  the  heart  of  the  town,  to  go  loitering  in 
Through  the  dim,  narrow  walks,  with  the  sheltering 

shade 

Of  the  trees  waving  over  the  long  promenade, 
And  littering  lightly  the  ways  of  our  feet 
With  the  gold  of  the  sunshine  of  Lockerbie  street. 
'3 


LOCKERBIE    STREET 

And  the  nights  that  come  down  the  dark  pathways  of 

dusk, 

With  the  stars  in  their  tresses,  and  odors  of  musk 
In  their  moon-woven  raiments,  bespangled  with  dews, 
And  looped  up  with  lilies  for  lovers  to  use 
In  the  songs  that  they  sing  to  the  tinkle  and  beat 
Of  their  sweet  serenadings  through  Lockerbie  street. 

O  my  Lockerbie  street !     You  are  fair  to  be  seen — 
Be  it  noon  of  the  day,  or  the  rare  and  serene 
Afternoon  of  the  night — you  are  one  to  my  heart, 
And  I  love  you  above  all  the  phrases  of  art, 
For  no  language  could  frame  and  no  lips  could  repeat 
My  rhyme-haunted  raptures  of  Lockerbie  street. 


14 


DAS  KRIST  KINDEL 

I  HAD  fed  the  fire  and  stirred  it,  till  the  sparkles  in  de- 
light 

Snapped  their  saucy  little  fingers  at  the  chill  December 
night ; 

And  in  dressing-gown  and  slippers.  I  had  tilted  back 
"my  throne" — 

The  old  split-bottomed  rocker  —  and  was  musing  all 
alone. 

I  could  hear  the  hungry  Winter  prowling  round  the 

outer  door, 
And  the  tread  of  muffled  footsteps  on  the  white  piazza. 

floor; 
But  the  sounds  came  to  me  only  as  the  murmur  of  a 

stream 

That  mingled  with  the  current  of  a  lazy-flowing  dream. 
'5 


DAS    KRIST    KINDEL 

Like  a  fragrant  incense  rising,  curled  the  smoke  of  my 
cigar, 

With  the  lamplight  gleaming  through  it  like  a  mist- 
enfolded  star ; — 

And  as  I  gazed,  the  vapor  like  a  curtain  rolled  away, 

With  a  sound  of  bells  that  tinkled,  and  the  clatter  of  a 
sleigh. 

And  in  a  vision,  painted  like  a  picture  in  the  air, 
I  saw  the  elfish  figure  of  a  man  with  frosty  hair — 
A  quaint  old  man  that  chuckled  with  a  laugh  as  he  ap- 
peared, 

And  with  ruddy  cheeks  like  embers  in  the  ashes  of  his 
beard. 

He  poised  himself  grotesquely,  in  an  attitude  of  mirth, 
On  a  damask-covered  hassock  that  was  sitting  on  the 

hearth ; 

And  at  a  magic  signal  of  his  stubby  little  thumb, 
I  saw  the  fireplace  changing  to  a  bright  proscenium. 


16 


DAS    KRIST    KIXDEL 

And  looking  there,  I  marvelled  as  I  saw  a  mimic  stage 
Alive  with  little  actors  of  a  very  tender  age ; 
And  some  so  very  tiny  that  they  tottered  as  they  walked, 
And  lisped  and  purled  and  gurgled  like  the  brooklets, 
when  they  talked. 

And  their  faces  were  like  lilies,  and  their  eyes  like  purest 

dew, 
And  their  tresses  like  the  shadows  that  the  shine  is  woven 

through ; 

And  they  each  had  little  burdens,  and  a  little  tale  to  tell 
Of  fairy  lore,  and  giants,  and  delights  delectable. 

And  they  mixed  and  intermingled,  weaving  melody  with 

j°y> 

Till  the  magic  circle  clustered  round  a  blooming  baby- 
boy; 

And  they  threw  aside  their  treasures  in  an  ecstasy  of 
glee, 

And  bent,  with  dazzled  faces  and  with  parted  lips,  to 
see. 


DAS    KRIST    KINDEL 

'Twas  a  wondrous  little  fellow,  with  a  dainty  double- 
chin, 

And  chubby-cheeks,  and  dimples  for  the  smiles  to  blos- 
som in ; 

And  he  looked  as  ripe  and  rosy,  on  his  bed  of  straw  and 
reeds, 

As  a  mellow  little  pippin  that  had  tumbled  in  the  weeds. 

And  I  saw  the  happy  mother,  and  a  group  surrounding 

her 
That  knelt  with   costly   presents   of   frankincense    and 

myrrh; 
And  I  thrilled  with  awe  and  wonder,  as  a  murmur  on 

the  air 
Came  drifting  o'er  the  hearing  in  a  melody  of  prayer: — 

By  the  splendor  in  the  heavens,  and  the  hush  upon  the  sea, 
And  the  majesty  of  silence  reigning  over  Galilee, 
We  feel  Thy  kingly  presence,  and  we  humbly  bow  the  knee 
And  lift  our  hearts  and  voices  in  gratefulness  to  Thee. 

Thy  messenger  has  spoken,  and  our  doubts  have  fled  and  gone 
As  the  dark  and  spectral  shadows  of  the  night  before  the  dawn; 
And,  in  the  kindly  shelter  of  the  light  around  us  drawn, 
We  would  nestle  down  forever  in  the  breast  we  lean  upon. 

18 


DAS    KRIST    KINDEL 

You  have  given  us  a  shepherd —  You  have  given  us  a  guide, 
And  the  light  of  Heaven  grew  dimmer  when  You  sent  him  from 

Your  side, — 
But  he  comes  to  lead  Thy  children  where  the  gates  will  open 

wide 
To  welcome  his  returning  when  his  works  are  glorified. 

By  the  splendor  in  the  heavens,  and  the  hush  upon  the  sea, 
And  the  majesty  of  silence  reigning  over  Galilee, — 
We  feel  Thy  kingly  presence,  and  we  humbly  bow  the  knee 
And  lift  our  hearts  and  voices  in  gratefulness  to  Thee. 

Then  the  vision,  slowly  failing,  with  the  words  of  the 

refrain, 
Fell  swooning  in  the  moonlight  through  the  frosty 

window-pane ; 

And  I  heard  the  clock  proclaiming,  like  an  eager  sentinel 
Who  brings  the  world  good  tidings, — "It  is  Christmas — 

all  is  well!" 


ANSELMO 

YEARS  did  I  vainly  seek  the  good  Lord's  grace, — 

Prayed,  fasted,  and  did  penance  dire  and  dread; 
Did  kneel,  with  bleeding  knees  and  rainy  face, 

And  mouth  the  dust,  with  ashes  on  my  head ; 
Yea,  still  with  knotted  scourge  the  flesh  I  flayed, 

Rent  fresh  the  wounds,  and  moaned  and  shrieked 

insanely ; 
And  froth  oozed  with  the  pleadings  that  I  made, 

And  yet  I  prayed  on  vainly,  vainly,  vainly ! 

A  time,  from  out  of  swoon  I  lifted  eye, 

To  find  a  wretched  outcast,  gray  and  grim, 
Bathing  my  brow,  with  many  a  pitying  sigh, 

And  I  did  pray  God's  grace  might  rest  on  him.— 
Then,  lo!   a  gentle  voice  fell  on  mine  ears — 

"Thou  shalt  not  sob  in  suppliance  hereafter; 
Take  up  thy  prayers  and  wring  them  dry  of  tears, 

And  lift  them,  white  and  pure  with  love  and 
laughter!" 

So  is  it  now  for  all  men  else  I  pray ; 
So  is  it  I  am  blest  and  glad  alway. 
20 


A  HOME-MADE  FAIRY  TALE 

BUD,  come  here  to  your  uncle  a  spell, 

And  I'll  tell  you  something  you  mustn't  tell — 

For  it's  a  secret  and  shore-' nuf  true, 

And  maybe  I  oughtn't  to  tell  it  to  you ! — 

But  out  in  the  garden,  under  the  shade 

Of  the  apple-trees,  where  we  romped  and  played 

Till  the  moon  was  up,  and  you  thought  I'd  gone 

Fast  asleep, — That  was  all  put  on ! 

For  I  was  a-watchin'  something  queer 

Goin'  on  there  in  the  grass,  my  dear! — 

'Way  down  deep  in  it,  there  I  see 

A  little  dude-Fairy  who  winked  at  me, 

And  snapped  his  fingers,  and  laughed  as  low 

And  fine  as  the  whine  of  a  mus-kee-to ! 

I  kept  still — watchin'  him  closer — and 

I  noticed  a  little  guitar  in  his  hand, 

21 


A   HOME-MADE    FAIRY   TALE 

Which  he  leant  'ginst  a  little  dead  bee — and  laid 

His  cigarette  down  on  a  clean  grass-blade, 

And  then  climbed  up  on  the  shell  of  a  snail — 

Carefully  dusting  his  swallowtail — 

And  pulling  up,  by  a  waxed  web-thread, 

This  little  guitar,  you  remember,  I  said ! 

And  there  he  trinkled  and  trilled  a  tune, — 

"My  Love,  so  Fair,  Tans  in  the  Moon!" 

Till,  presently,  out  of  the  clover-top 

He  seemed  to  be  singing  to,  came,  k'pop! 

The  purtiest,  daintiest  Fairy  face 

In  all  this  world,  or  any  place ! 

Then  the  little  ser'nader  waved  his  hand, 

As  much  as  to  say,  "We'll  excuse  you!"  and 

I  heard,  as  I  squinted  my  eyelids  to, 

A  kiss  like  the  drip  of  a  drop  of  dew ! 


22 


THE  SOUTH  WIND  AND  THE  SUN 

O  THE  South  Wind  and  the  Sun ! 

How  each  loved  the  other  one — 
Full  of  fancy — full  of  folly — 

Full  of  jollity  and  fun ! 

How  they  romped  and  ran  about, 

Like  two  boys  when  school  is  out, 
With  glowing  face,  and  lisping  lip, 

Low  laugh,  and  lifted  shout! 

And  the  South  Wind — he  was  dressed 
With  a  ribbon  round  his  breast 

That  floated,  flapped  and  fluttered 
In  a  riotous  unrest, 
And  a  drapery  of  mist 
From  the  shoulder  and  the  wrist 

Flowing  backward  with  the  motion 
Of  the  waving  hand  he  kissed. 
23 


THE  SOUTH  WIND  AND  THE  SUN 

And  the  Sun  had  on  a  crown 

Wrought  of  gilded  thistle-down, 
And  a  scarf  of  velvet  vapor, 

And  a  ravelled-rainbow  gown ; 

And  his  tinsel-tangled  hair, 

Tossed  and  lost  upon  the  air, 
Was  glossier  and  flossier 

Than  any  anywhere. 

And  the  South  Wind's  eyes  were  two 

Little  dancing  drops  of  dew, 
As  he  puffed  his  cheeks,  and  pursed  his  lips, 

And  blew  and  blew  and  blew! 

And  the  Sun's — like  diamond-stone, 

Brighter  yet  than  ever  known, 
As  he  knit  his  brows  and  held  his  breath, 

And  shone  and  shone  and  shone ! 

And  this  pair  of  merry  fays 
Wandered  through  the  summer  days ; 
Arm-in-arm  they  went  together 
Over  heights  of  morning  haze — 
24 


THE  SOUTH  WIND  AND  THE  SUN 

Over  slanting  slopes  of  lawn 
They  went  on  and  on  and  on, 
Where  the  daisies  looked  like  star-tracks 
Trailing  up  and  down  the  dawn. 

And  where'er  they  found  the  top 

Of  a  wheat-stalk  droop  and  lop 
They  chucked  it  underneath  the  chin 

And  praised  the  lavish  crop, 

Till  it  lifted  with  the  pride 

Of  the  heads  it  grew  beside, 
And  then  the  South  Wind  and  the  Sun 

Went  onward  satisfied. 

Over  meadow-lands  they  tripped, 
Where  the  dandelions  dipped 

In  crimson  foam  of  clover-bloom, 

And  dripped  and  dripped  and  dripped : 
And  they  clinched  the  bumble-stings, 
Gauming  honey  on  their  wings, 

And  bundling  them  in  lily-bells, 
With  maudlin  murmurings. 
25 


THE  SOUTH  WIND  AND  THE  SUN 

And  the  humming-bird  that  hung 

Like  a  jewel  up  among 
The  tilted  honeysuckle-horns, 

They  mesmerized,  and  swung 

In  the  palpitating  air, 

Drowsed  with  odors  strange  and  rare, 
And,  with  whispered  laughter,  slipped  away, 

And  left  him  hanging  there. 

And  they  braided  blades  of  grass 
Where  the  truant  had  to  pass ; 

And  they  wriggled  through  the  rushes 
And  the  reeds  of  the  morass, 
Where  they  danced,  in  rapture  sweet, 
O'er  the  leaves  that  laid  a  street 

Of  undulant  mosaic  for 
The  touches  of  their  feet. 

By  the  brook  with  mossy  brink 

Where  the  cattle  came  to  drink, 

They  trilled  and  piped  and  whistled 

With  the  thrush  and  bobolink, 

26 


THE  SOUTH  WIND  AND  THE  SUN 

Till  the  kine  in  listless  pause, 
Switched  their  tails  in  mute  applause, 
With  lifted  heads  and  dreamy  eyes, 
And  bubble-dripping  jaws. 

And  where  the  melons  grew, 
Streaked  with  yellow,  green  and  blue, 

These  jolly  sprites  went  wandering 
Through  spangled  paths  of  dew ; 
And  the  melons,  here  and  there, 
They  made  love  to,  everywhere, 

Turning  their  pink  souls  to  crimson 
With  caresses  fond  and  fair. 

Over  orchard  walls  they  went, 

Where  the  fruited  boughs  were  bent 
Till  they  brushed  the  sward  beneath  them 

Where  the  shine  and  shadow  blent ; 

And  the  great  green  pear  they  shook 

Till  the  sallow  hue  forsook 
Its  features,  and  the  gleam  of  gold 

Laughed  out  in  every  look. 
27 


THE  SOUTH  WIND  AND  THE  SUN 

And  they  stroked  the  downy  cheek 
Of  the  peach,  and  smoothed  it  sleek, 

And  flushed  it  into  splendor ; 
And,  with  many  an  elfish  freak, 
Gave  the  russet's  rust  a  wipe — 
Prankt  the  rambo  with  a  stripe, 

And  the  wine-sap  blushed  its  reddest 
As  they  spanked  the  pippins  ripe. 

Through  the  woven  ambuscade 
That  the  twining  vines  had  made, 

They  found  the  grapes,  in  clusters, 
Drinking  up  the  shine  and  shade — 
Plumpt,  like  tiny  skins  of  wine, 
With  a  vintage  so  divine 

That  the  tongue  of  fancy  tingled 
With  the  tang  of  muscadine. 

And  the  golden-banded  bees, 
Droning  o'er  the  flowery  leas, 
They  bridled,  reigned,  and  rode  away 
Across  the  fragrant  breeze, 
28 


THE  SOUTH  WIND  AND  THE  SUN 

Till  in  hollow  oak  and  elm 
They  had  groomed  and  stabled  them 
In  waxen  stalls  oozed  with  dews 
Of  rose  and  lily-stem. 

Where  the  dusty  highway  leads, 
High  above  the  wayside  weeds 

They  sowed  the  air  with  butterflies 
Like  blooming  flower-seeds, 
Till  the  dull  grasshopper  sprung 
Half  a  man's  height  up,  and  hung 

Tranced  in  the  heat,  with  whirring  wings, 
And  sung  and  sung  and  sung! 

And  they  loitered,  hand  in  hand, 
Where  the  snipe  along  the  sand 

Of  the  river  ran  to  meet  them 
As  the  ripple  meets  the  land, 
Till  the  dragon-fly,  in  light 
Gauzy  armor,  burnished  bright, 

Came  tilting  down  the  waters 
In  a  wild,  bewildered  flight. 
29 


THE  SOUTH  WIND  AND  THE  SUN 

And  they  heard  the  killdee's  call, 

And  afar,  the  waterfall, 
But  the  rustle  of  a  falling  leaf 

They  heard  above  it  all ; 

And  the  trailing  willow  crept 

Deeper  in  the  tide  that  swept 
The  leafy  shallop  to  the  shore, 

And  wept  and  wept  and  wept! 

And  the  fairy  vessel  veered 

From  its  moorings — tacked  and  steered 
For  the  centre  of  the  current — 

Sailed  away  and  disappeared: 

And  the  burthen  that  it  bore 
'From  the  long-enchanted  shore — 
"Alas!  the  South  Wind  and  the  Sun!" 

I  murmur  evermore. 

For  the  South  Wind  and  the  Sun, 
Each  so  loves  the  other  one, 
For  all  his  jolly  folly 
And  frivolity  and  fun, 
30 


THE  SOUTH  WIND  AND  THE  SUN 

That  our  love  for  them  they  weigh 
As  their  fickle  fancies  may, 
And  when  at  last  we  love  them  most, 
They  laugh  and  sail  away. 


THE  LOST  KISS 

I  PUT  by  the  half-written  poem, 

While  the  pen,  idly  trailed  in  my  hand, 
Writes  on, — "Had  I  words  to  complete  it, 

Who'd  read  it,  or  who'd  understand?" 
But  the  little  bare  feet  on  the  stairway, 

And  the  faint,  smothered  laugh  in  the  hall, 
And  the  eerie-low  lisp  on  the  silence, 

Cry  up  to  me  over  it  all. 

So  I  gather  it  up — where  was  broken 

The  tear-faded  thread  of  my  theme, 
Telling  how,  as  one  night  I  sat  writing, 

A  fairy  broke  in  on  my  dream, 
A  little  inquisitive  fairy — 

My  own  little  girl,  with  the  gold 
Of  the  sun  in  her  hair,  and  the  dewy 

Blue  eyes  of  the  fairies  of  old. 

'Twas  the  dear  little  girl  that  I  scolded — 
"For  was  it  a  moment  like  this," 

I  said,  "when  she  knew  I  was  busy, 
To  come  romping  in  for  a  kiss  ? — 
32 


THE    LOST    KISS 

Come  rowdying  up  from  her  mother, 
And  clamoring  there  at  my  knee 

For  '  One  'ittle  kiss  for  my  dolly, 
And  one  'ittle  uzzer  for  me!'  " 

God,  pity  the  heart  that  repelled  her, 

And  the  cold  hand  that  turned  her  away, 
And  take,  from  the  lips  that  denied  her, 

This  answerless  prayer  of  to-day! 
Take,  Lord,  from  my  mem'ry  forever 

That  pitiful  sob  of  despair, 
And  the  patter  and  trip  of  the  little  bare  feet, 

And  the  one  piercing  cry  on  the  stair! 

I  put  by  the  half-written  poem, 

While  the  pen,  idly  trailed  in  my  hand, 
Writes  on, — "  Had  I  words  to  complete  it 

Who'd  read  it,  or  who'd  understand?" 
But  the  little  bare  feet  on  the  stairway, 

And  the  faint,  smothered  laugh  in  the  hall, 
And  the  eerie-low  lisp  on  the  silence, 

Cry  up  to  me  over  it  all. 


33 


THE  SPHINX 

I  KNOW  all  about  the  Sphinx — 
I  know  even  what  she  thinks, 
Staring  with  her  stony  eyes 
Up  forever  at  the  skies. 

For  last  night  I  dreamed  that  she 
Told  me  all  the  mystery — 
Why  for  aeons  mute  she  sat: — 
She  was  just  cut  out  for  that ! 


34 


IF  I  KNEW  WHAT  POETS  KNOW 

IF  I  knew  what  poets  know, 

Would  I  write  a  rhyme 
Of  the  buds  that  never  blow 

In  the  summer-time  ? 
Would  I  sing  of  golden  seeds 
Springing  up  in  ironweeds? 
And  of  raindrops  turned  to  snow, 
If  I  knew  what  poets  know? 

Did  I  know  what  poets  do, 

Would  I  sing  a  song 
Sadder  than  the  pigeon's  coo 

When  the  days  are  long? 
Where  I  found  a  heart  in  pain, 
I  would  make  it  glad  again ; 
And  the  false  should  be  the  true, 
Did  I  know  what  poets  do. 
35 


IF    I    KNEW    WHAT    POETS    KNOW 

If  I  knew  what  poets  know, 

I  would  find  a  theme 
Sweeter  than  the  placid  flow 

Of  the  fairest  dream : 
I  would  sing  of  love  that  lives 
On  the  errors  it  forgives; 
And  the  world  would  better  grow 
If  I  knew  what  poets  know. 


IKE  WALTON'S  PRAYER 

I  CRAVE,  dear  Lord, 
No  boundless  hoard 
Of  gold  and  gear, 
Nor  jewels  fine, 
Nor  lands,  nor  kine, 
Nor  treasure-heaps  of  anything. — 

Let  but  a  little  hut  be  mine 
Where  at  the  hearthstone  I  may  hear 

The  cricket  sing, 
And  have  the  shine 
Of  one  glad  woman's  eyes  to  make, 
For  my  poor  sake, 

Our  simple  home  a  place  divine ; — 
Just  the  wee  cot — the  cricket's  chirr — 
Love,  and  the  smiling  face  of  her. 

I  pray  not  for 
Great  riches,  nor 

37 


IKK  WALTON'S  PRAYER 

For  vast  estates  and  castle-halls, — 
Give  me  to  hear  the  bare  footfalls 
Of  children  o'er 
An  oaken  floor 

New-rinsed  with  sunshine,  or  bespread 
With  but' the  tiny  coverlet 
And  pillow  for  the  baby's  head ; 
And,  pray  Thou,  may 
The  door  stand  open  and  the  day 
Send  ever  in  a  gentle  breeze, 
With  fragrance  from  the  locust-trees, 

And  drowsy  moan  of  doves,  and  blur 
Of  robin-chirps,  and  drone  of  bees, 

With  after-hushes  of  the  stir 
Of  intermingling  sounds,  and  then 

The  goodwife  and  the  smile  of  her 
Filling  the  silences  again — 
The  cricket's  call 

And  the  wee  cot, 
Dear  Lord  of  all, 
Deny  me  not! 


IKE    WALTON  S    PRAYER 

I  pray  not  that 
Men  tremble  at 

My  power  of  place 

And  lordly  sway, — 
I  only  pray  for  simple  grace 
To  look  my  neighbor  in  the  face 

Full  honestly  from  day  to  day — 
Yield  me  his  horny  palm  to  hold, 
And  I'll  not  pray 

For  gold ; — 

The  tanned  face,  garlanded  with  mirth, 
It  hath  the  kingliest  smile  on  earth ; 
The  swart  brow,  diamonded  with  sweat, 
Hath  never  need  of  coronet. 
And  so  I  reach, 

Dear  Lord,  to  Thee, 
And  do  beseech 

Thou  givest  me 

The  wee  cot,  and  the  cricket's  chirr, 
Love,  and  the  glad  sweet  face  of  her! 


39 


A  ROUGH  SKETCH 

I  CAUGHT,  for  a  second,  across  the  crowd — 

Just  for  a  second,  and  barely  that — 
A  face,  pox-pitted  and  evil-browed, 

Hid  in  the  shade  of  a  slouch-rim' d  hat — 
With  small  gray  eyes,  of  a  look  as  keen 
As  the  long,  sharp  nose  that  grew  between. 

And  I  said:   'Tis  a  sketch  of  Nature's  own, 

Drawn  i'  the  dark  o'  the  moon,  I  swear, 
On  a  tatter  of  Fate  that  the  winds  have  blown 
Hither  and  thither  and  everywhere — 
With  its  keen  little  sinister  eyes  of  gray, 
And  nose  like  the  beak  of  a  bird  of  prey  I 


OUR  KIND  OF  A  MAN 


THE  kind  of  a  man  for  you  and  me  ! 

He  faces  the  world  unflinchingly, 

And  smites,  as  long  as  the  wrong  resists, 

With  a  knuckled  faith  and  force  like  fists : 

He  lives  the  life  he  is  preaching  of, 

And  loves  where  most  is  the  need  of  love ; 

His  voice  is  clear  to  the  deaf  man's  ears, 

And  his  face  sublime  through  the  blind  man's  tears  ; 

The  light  shines  out  where  the  clouds  were  dim, 

And  the  widow's  prayer  goes  up  for  him ; 

The  latch  is  clicked  at  the  hovel  door 

And  the  sick  man  sees  the  sun  once  more, 

And  out  o'er  the  barren  fields  he  sees 

Springing  blossoms  and  waving  trees, 

Feeling  as  only  the  dying  may, 

That  God's  own  servant  has  come  that  way, 

Smoothing  the  path  as  it  still  winds  on 

Through  the  golden  gate  where  his  loved  have  gone. 


OUR   KIND    OF    A    MAN 


The  kind  of  a  man  for  me  and  you  1 

However  little  of  worth  we  do 

He  credits  full,  and  abides  in  trust 

That  time  will  teach  us  how  more  is  just. 

He  walks  abroad,  and  he  meets  all  kinds 

Of  querulous  and  uneasy  minds, 

And,  sympathizing,  he  shares  the  pain 

Of  the  doubts  that  rack  us,  heart  and  brain ; 

And,  knowing  this,  as  we  grasp  his  hand, 

We  are  surely  coming  to  understand  ! 

He  looks  on  sin  with  pitying  eyes — 

E'en  as  the  Lord,  since  Paradise, — 

Else,  should  we  read,  Though  our  sins  should  glow 

As  scarlet,  they  shall  be  white  as  snow  ? — 

And,  feeling  still,  with  a  grief  half  glad, 

That  the  bad  are  as  good  as  the  good  are  bad, 

He  strikes  straight  out  for  the  Right — and  he 

Is  the  kind  of  a  man  for  you  and  me ! 


THE  HARPER 

LIKE  a  drift  of  faded  blossoms 

Caught  in  a  slanting  rain, 
His  fingers  glimpsed  down  the  strings  of  his  harp 

In  a  tremulous  refrain: 

Patter  and  tinkle,  and  drip  and  drip  ! 

Ah  !  but  the  chords  were  rainy  sweet ! 
And  I  closed  my  eyes  and  I  bit  my  lip, 

As  he  played  there  in  the  street. 

Patter,  and  drip,  and  tinkle  ! 

And  there  was  the  little  bed 
In  the  corner  of  the  garret, 

And  the  rafters  overhead  ! 

And  there  was  the  little  window- 
Tinkle,  and  drip,  and  drip  ! — 

The  rain  above,  and  a  mother's  love, 
And  God's  companionship ! 


43 


OLD  AUNT  MARY'S 

WASN'T  it  pleasant,  O  brother  mine, 
In  those  old  days  of  the  lost  sunshine 
Of  youth — when  the  Saturday's  chores  were  through, 
And  the  "Sunday's  wood"  in  the  kitchen,  too, 
And  we  went  visiting,  "me  and  you," 
Out  to  Old  Aunt  Mary's? 

It  all  comes  back  so  clear  to-day  ! 
Though  I  am  as  bald  as  you  are  gray — 
Out  by  the  barn-lot,  and  down  the  lane, 
We  patter  along  in  the  dust  again, 
As  light  as  the  tips  of  the  drops  of  the  rain, 
Out  to  Old  Aunt  Mary's  ! 

We  cross  the  pasture,  and  through  the  wood 
Where  the  old  gray  snag  of  the  poplar  stood, 
Where  the  hammering  "red-heads"  hopped  awry, 
And  the  buzzard  "raised"  in  the  "clearing"  sky 
And  lolled  and  circled,  as  we  went  by 
Out  to  Old  Aunt  Mary's. 
44 


OLD  AUNT  MARY'S 

And  then  in  the  dust  of  the  road  again ; 
And  the  teams  we  met,  and  the  countrymen ; 
And  the  long  highway,  with  sunshine  spread 
As  thick  as  butter  on  country  bread, 
Our  cares  behind,  and  our  hearts  ahead 
Out  to  Old  Aunt  Mary's. 

Why,  I  see  her  now  in  the  open  door, 
Where  the  little  gourds  grew  up  the  sides  and  o'er 
The  clapboard  roof  ! — And  her  face — ah,  me  ! 
Wasn't  it  good  for  a  boy  to  see — 
And  wasn't  it  good  for  a  boy  to  be 
Out  to  Old  Aunt  Mary's  ? 

The  jelly — the  jam  and  the  marmalade, 
And  the  cherry  and  quince  "preserves"  she  made  ! 
And  the  sweet-sour  pickles  of  peach  and  pear. 
With  cinnamon  in  'em,  and  all  things  rare  ! — 
And  the  more  we  ate  was  the  more  to  spare, 
Out  to  Old  Aunt  Mary's! 


45 


OLD  AUNT  MARY'S 

And  the  old  spring-house  in  the  cool  green  gloom 
Of  the  willow-trees, — and  the  cooler  room 
Where  the  swinging-shelves  and  the  crocks  were  kept — 
Where  the  cream  in  a  golden  languor  slept 
While  the  waters  gurgled  and  laughed  and  wept — 
Out  to  Old  Aunt  Mary's. 

And  O  my  brother,  so  far  away, 
This  is  to  tell  you  she  waits  to-day 
To  welcome  us : — Aunt  Mary  fell 
Asleep  this  morning,  whispering — "Tell 
The  boys  to  come!"     And  all  is  well 
Out  to  Old  Aunt  Mary's. 


46 


ILLILEO 

ILLILEO,  the  moonlight  seemed  lost  across  the  vales — 
The  stars  but  strewed  the  azure  as  an  armor's  scattered 

scales ; 

The  airs  of  night  were  quiet  as  the  breath  of  silken  sails, 
And  all  your  words  were  sweeter  than  the  notes  of 

nightingales. 

Illileo  Legardi,  in  the  garden  there  alone, 

With  your  figure  carved  of  fervor,  as  the  Psyche  carved 
of  stone, 

There  came  to  me  no  murmur  of  the  fountain's  under- 
tone 

So  mystically,  musically  mellow  as  your  own. 

You  whispered  low,  Illileo — so  low  the  leaves  were 

mute, 
And  the  echoes  faltered  breathless  in  your  voice's  vain 

pursuit ; 
And  there  died  the  distant  dalliance  of  the  serenader's 

lute: 
And  I  held  you  in  my  bosom  as  the  husk  may  hold  the 

fruit. 

47 


Illileo,  I  listened.     I  believed  you.     In  my  bliss, 
What  were  all  the  worlds  above  me  since  I  found  you 

thus  in  this? — 
Let  them  reeling  reach  to  win  me — even  Heaven  I  would 

miss, 
Grasping  earthward  ! — I  would  cling  here,  though  I 

clung  by  just  a  kiss. 

And  blossoms  should  grow  odorless — and  lilies  all 

aghast — 
And  I  said  the  stars  should  slacken  in  their  paces 

through  the  vast, 

Ere  yet  my  loyalty  should  fail  enduring  to  the  last. — 
So  vowed  I.    It  is  written.     It  is  changeless  as  the  past. 

Illileo  Legardi,  in  the  shade  your  palace  throws 
Like  a  cowl  about  the  singer  at  your  gilded  porticos, 
A  moan  goes  with  the  music  that  may  vex  the  high 

repose 
Of  a  heart  that  fades  and  crumbles  as  the  crimson  of  a 

rose. 


THE  KING 

THEY  rode  right  out  of  the  morning  sun— 

A  glimmering,  glittering  cavalcade 
Of  knights  and  ladies  and  every  one 

In  princely  sheen  arrayed  ; 
And  the  king  of  them  all,  O  he  rode  ahead, 
With  a  helmet  of  gold,  and  a  plume  of  red 
That  spurted  about  in  the  breeze  and  bled 

In  the  bloom  of  the  everglade. 

And  they  rode  high  over  the  dewy  lawn, 
With  brave,  glad  banners  of  every  hue 
That  rolled  in  ripples,  as  they  rode  on 

In  splendor,  two  and  two ; 
And  the  tinkling  links  of  the  golden  reins 
Of  the  steeds  they  rode  rang  such  refrains 
As  the  castanets  in  a  dream  of  Spain's 

Intensest  gold  and  blue. 

And  they  rode  and  rode  ;  and  the  steeds  they  neighed 

And  pranced,  and  the  sun  on  their  glossy  hides 
Flickered  and  lightened  and  glanced  and  played 
Like  the  moon  on  rippling  tides; 
49 


THE    KING 

And  their  manes  were  silken,  and  thick  and  strong, 
And  their  tails  were  flossy,  and  fetlock-long, 
And  jostled  in  time  to  the  teeming  throng, 
And  their  knightly  song  besides. 

Clank  of  scabbard  and  jingle  of  spur, 

And  the  fluttering  sash  of  the  queen  went  wild 
In  the  wind,  and  the  proud  king  glanced  at  her 

As  one  at  a  wilful  child, — 
And  as  knight  and  lady  away  they  flew, 
And  the  banners  flapped,  and  the  falcon,  too, 
And  the  lances  flashed  and  the  bugle  blew, 

He  kissed  his  hand  and  smiled. — 

And  then,  like  a  slanting  sunlit  shower, 

The  pageant  glittered  across  the  plain, 
And  the  turf  spun  back,  and  the  wildweed  flower 

Was  only  a  crimson  stain. 

And  a  dreamer's  eyes  they  are  downward  cast, 
As  he  blends  these  words  with  the  wailing  blast: 
"It  is  the  King  of  the  Year  rides  past!  " 

And  Autumn  is  here  again. 


5° 


A  BRIDE 

"  O  I  AM  weary!  "  she  sighed,  as  her  billowy 

Hair  she  unloosed  in  a  torrent  of  gold 
That  rippled  and  fell  o'er  a  figure  as  willowy, 

Graceful  and  fair  as  a  goddess  of  old: 
Over  her  jewels  she  flung  herself  drearily, 

Crumpled  the  laces  that  snowed  on  her  breast, 
Crushed  with  her  fingers  the  lily  that  wearily 

Clung  in  her  hair  like  a  dove  in  its  nest. 

— And  naught  but  her  shadowy  form  in  the  mirror 
To  kneel  in  dumb  agony  down  and  weep  near  her! 

' '  Weary  ?' ' — of  what  ?  Could  we  fathom  the  mystery  ? — 

Lift  up  the  lashes  weighed  down  by  her  tears 
And  wash  with  their  dews  one  white  face  from  her  history, 

Set  like  a  gem  in  the  red  rust  of  years? 
Nothing  will  rest  her — unless  he  who  died  of  her 

Strayed  from  his  grave,  and,  in  place  of  the  groom, 
Tipping  her  face,  kneeling  there  by  the  side  of  her, 
Drained  the  old  kiss  to  the  dregs  of  his  doom. 

— And  naught  but  that  shadowy  form  in  the  mirroi 
To  kneel  in  dumb  agony  down  and  weep  near  her ! 
5' 


THE  DEAD  LOVER 

TIME  is  so  long  when  a  man  is  dead! 

Some  one  sews ;  and  the  room  is  made 
Very  clean ;   and  the  light  is  shed 

Soft  through  the  window-shade. 

Yesterday  I  thought:     "  I  know 

Just  how  the  bells  will  sound,  and  how 

The  friends  will  talk,  and  the  sermon  go, 
And  the  hearse-horse  bow  and  bow!  " 

This  is  to-day;   and  I  have  no  thing 
To  think  of — nothing  whatever  to  do 

But  to  hear  the  throb  of  the  pulse  of  a  wing 
That  wants  to  fly  back  to  you. 


A  SONG 

THERE  is  ever  a  song  somewhere,  my  dear ; 

There  is  ever  a  something  sings  alway : 
There's  the  song  of  the  lark  when  the  skies  are  clear, 

And  the  song  of  the  thrush  when  the  skies  are  gray. 
The  sunshine  showers  across  the  grain, 

And  the  bluebird  trills  in  the  orchard  tree ; 
And  in  and  out,  when  the  eaves  dip  rain, 

The  swallows  are  twittering  ceaselessly. 

There  is  ever  a  song  somewhere,  my  dear, 

Be  the  skies  above  or  dark  or  fair, 
There  is  ever  a  song  that  our  hearts  may  hear — 
There  is  ever  a  song  somewhere,  my  dear — 

There  is  ever  a  song  somewhere ! 

There  is  ever  a  song  somewhere,  my  dear, 
In  the  midnight  black,  or  the  mid-day  blue : 

The  robin  pipes  when  the  sun  is  here, 

And  the  cricket  chirrups  the  whole  night  through. 
53 


A   SONG 

The  buds  may  blow,  and  the  fruit  may  grow, 
And  the  autumn  leaves  drop  crisp  and  sear ; 

But  whether  the  sun,  or  the  rain,  or  the  snow, 
There  is  ever  a  song  somewhere,  my  dear. 

There  is  ever  a  song  somewhere,  my  dear, 

Be  the  skies  above  or  dark  or  fair, 
There  is  ever  a  song  that  our  hearts  may  hear- 
There  is  ever  a  song  somewhere,  my  dear — 
There  is  ever  a  song  somewhere ! 


WHEN  BESSIE  DIED 

*  If  from  your  own  the  dimpled  hands  had  slipped, 

And  ne'er  would  nestle  in  your  palm  again; 
If  the  white  feet  into  the  grave  had  tripped—" 

WHEN  Bessie  died — 
We  braided  the  brown  hair,  and  tied 
It  just  as  her  own  little  hands 
Had  fastened  back  the  silken  strands 
A  thousand  times — the  crimson  bit 
Of  ribbon  woven  into  it 
That  she  had  worn  with  childish  pride — 
Smoothed  down  the  dainty  bow — and  cried- 
When  Bessie  died. 

When  Bessie  died — 
We  drew  the  nursery  blinds  aside, 
And,  as  the  morning  in  the  room 
Burst  like  a  primrose  into  bloom, 
55 


WHEN    BESSIE   DIED 

Her  pet  canary's  cage  we  hung 

Where  she  might  hear  him  when  he  sung — 

And  yet  not  any  note  he  tried, 

Though  she  lay  listening  folded-eyed. 

When  Bessie  died — 

We  writhed  in  prayer  unsatisfied: 

We  begged  of  God,  and  He  did  smile 

In  silence  on  us  all  the  while ; 

And  we  did  see  Him,  through  our  tears, 

Enfolding  that  fair  form  of  hers, 

She  laughing  back  against  His  love 

The  kisses  we  had  nothing  of — 

And  death  to  us  He  still  denied, 

When  Bessie  died — 

When  Bessie  died. 


THE  SHOWER 

THE  landscape,  like  the  awed  face  of  a  child, 
Grew  curiously  blurred ;   a  hush  of  death 

Fell  on  the  fields,  and  in  the  darkened  wild 
The  zephyr  held  its  breath. 

No  wavering  glamour-work  of  light  and  shade 
Dappled  the  shivering  surface  of  the  brook; 

The  frightened  ripples  in  their  ambuscade 
Of  willows  thrilled  and  shook. 

The  sullen  day  grew  darker,  and  anon 
Dim  flashes  of  pent  anger  lit  the  sky ; 

With  rumbling  wheels  of  wrath  came  rolling  on 
The  storm's  artillery. 

The  cloud  above  put  on  its  blackest  frown, 
And  then,  as  with  a  vengeful  cry  of  pain, 

The  lightning  snatched  it,  ripped  and  flung  it  down 
In  ravelled  shreds  of  rain : 

While  I,  transfigured  by  some  wondrous  art, 
Bowed  with  the  thirsty  lilies  to  the  sod, 

My  empty  soul  brimmed  over,  and  my  heart 
Drenched  with  the  love  of  God. 
57 


A  LIFE-LESSON 

THERE  !  little  girl ;  don't  cry ! 

They  have  broken  your  doll,  I  know; 
And  your  tea-set  blue, 
And  your  play-house,  too, 
Are  things  of  the  long  ago ; 

But  childish  troubles  will  soon  pass  by.- 
There!   little  girl ;  don't  cry! 

There!  little  girl;  don't  cry! 

They  have  broken  your  slate,  I  know ; 
And  the  glad,  wild  ways 
Of  your  school-girl  days 
Are  things  of  the  long  ago ; 

But  life  and  love  will  soon  come  by. — 
There!   little  girl ;  don't  cry! 

There!   little  girl ;  don't  cry! 

They  have  broken  your  heart,  I  know ; 
And  the  rainbow  gleams 
Of  your  youthful  dreams 
Are  things  of  the  long  ago ; 

But  heaven  holds  all  for  which  you  sigh. 
There !  little  girl ;  don't  cry ! 
58 


A  SCRAWL 

I  WANT  to  sing  something — but  this  is  all — 

I  try  and  I  try,  but  the  rhymes  are  dull 
As  though  they  were  damp,  and  the  echoes  fall 
Limp  and  unlovable. 

Words  will  not  say  what  I  yearn  to  say — 
They  will  not  walk  as  I  want  them  to, 
But  they  stumble  and  fall  in  the  path  of  the  way 
Of  my  telling  my  love  for  you. 

Simply  take  what  the  scrawl  is  worth — 

Knowing  I  love  you  as  sun  the  sod 
On  the  ripening  side  of  the  great  round  earth 
That  swings  in  the  smile  of  God. 


59 


AWAY 

I  CANNOT  say,  and  I  will  not  say 
That  he  is  dead. — He  is  just  away! 

With  a  cheery  smile,  and  a  wave  of  the  hand, 
He  has  wandered  into  an  unknown  land, 

And  left  us  dreaming  how  very  fair 
It  needs  must  be,  since  he  lingers  there. 

And  you — O  you,  who  the  wildest  yearn 
For  the  old-time  step  and  the  glad  return, — 

Think  of  him  faring  on,  as  dear 

In  the  love  of  There  as  the  love  of  Here ; 

And  loyal  still,  as  he  gave  the  blows 
Of  his  warrior-strength  to  his  country's  foes. — 
60 


AWAY 

Mild  and  gentle,  as  he  was  brave, — 
When  the  sweetest  love  of  his  life  he  gave 

To  simple  things: — Where  the  violets  grew 
Blue  as  the  eyes  they  were  likened  to, 

The  touches  of  his  hands  have  strayed 
As  reverently  as  his  lips  have  prayed : 

When  the  little  brown  thrush  that  harshly  chirred 
Was  dear  to  him  as  the  mocking-bird  ; 

And  he  pitied  as  much  as  a  man  in  pain 
A  writhing  honey-bee  wet  with  rain. — 

Think  of  him  still  as  the  same,  I  say: 
He  is  not  dead — he  is  just  away ! 


61 


WHO  BIDES  HIS  TIME 

WHO  bides  his  time,  and  day  by  day 

Faces  defeat  full  patiently, 
And  lifts  a  mirthful  roundelay, 

However  poor  his  fortunes  be, — 
He  will  not  fail  in  any  qualm 

Of  poverty — the  paltry  dime 
It  will  grow  golden  in  his  palm, 
Who  bides  his  time. 

Who  bides  his  time — he  tastes  the  sweet 

Of  honey  in  the  saltest  tear ; 
And  though  he  fares  with  slowest  feet, 
Joy  runs  to  meet  him,  drawing  near; 
The  birds  are  heralds  of  his  cause  ; 
And,  like  a  never-ending  rhyme, 
The  roadsides  bloom  in  his  applause, 
Who  bides  his  time. 
62 


WHO    BIDES    HIS    TIME 

Who  bides  his  time,  and  fevers  not 
In  the  hot  race  that  none  achieves, 

Shall  wear  cool-wreathen  laurel,  wrought 
With  crimsom  berries  in  the  leaves ; 

And  he  shall  reign  a  goodly  king, 
And  sway  his  hand  o'er  every  clime, 

With  peace  writ  on  his  signet-ring, 
Who  bides  his  time. 


FROM  THE  HEADBOARD  OF  A  GRAVE  IN 
PARAGUAY 

A  TROTH,  and  a  grief,  and  a  blessing, 
Disguised  them  and  came  this  way, — 

And  one  was  a  promise,  and  one  was  a  doubt, 
And  one  was  a  rainy  day. 

And  they  met  betimes  with  this  maiden, — 
And  the  promise  it  spake  and  lied, 

And  the  doubt  it  gibbered  and  hugged  itself, 
And  the  rainy  day — she  died. 


LAUGHTER  HOLDING  BOTH  HIS  SIDES 

AY,  thou  varlet !     Laugh  away ! 
All  the  world's  a  holiday! 
Laugh  away,  and  roar  and  shout 
Till  thy  hoarse  tongue  lolleth  out! 
Bloat  thy  cheeks,  and  bulge  thine  eyes 
Unto  bursting ;  pelt  thy  thighs 
With  thy  swollen  palms,  and  roar 
As  thou  never  hast  before ! 
Lustier!  wilt  thou !  peal  on  peal! 
Stiflest?    Squat  and  grind  thy  heel — 
Wrestle  with  thy  loins,  and  then 
Wheeze  thee  whiles,  and  whoop  again ! 


FAME 


ONCE,  in  a  dream,  I  saw  a  man, 

With  haggard  face  and  tangled  hair, 
And  eyes  that  nursed  as  wild  a  care 

As  gaunt  Starvation  ever  can ; 

And  in  his  hand  he  held  a  wand 

Whose  magic  touch  gave  life  and  thought 
Unto  a  form  his  fancy  wrought 

And  robed  with  coloring  so  grand, 
It  seemed  the  reflex  of  some  child 
Of  Heaven,  fair  and  undefiled — 
A  face  of  purity  and  love — 
To  woo  him  into  worlds  above : 

And  as  I  gazed  with  dazzled  eyes, 
A  gleaming  smile  lit  up  his  lips 
As  his  bright  soul  from  its  eclipse 

Went  flashing  into  Paradise. 
66 


FAME 


Then  tardy  Fame  came  through  the  door 
And  found  a  picture — nothing  more. 


And  onoe  I  saw  a  man,  alone, 
In  abject  poverty,  with  hand 
Uplifted  o'er  a  block  of  stone 

That  took  a  shape  at  his  command 
And  smiled  upon  him,  fair  and  good — 
A  perfect  work  of  womanhood, 
Save  that  the  eyes  might  never  weep, 
Nor  weary  hands  be  crossed  in  sleep, 
Nor  hair  that  fell  from  crown  to  wrist, 
Be  brushed  away,  caressed  and  kissed. 
And  as  in  awe  I  gazed  on  her, 
I  saw  the  sculptor's  chisel  fall — 
I  saw  him  sink,  without  a  moan, 
Sink  lifeless  at  the  feet  of  stone, 
And  lie  there  like  a  worshipper. 

Fame  crossed  the  threshold  of  the  hall, 
And  found  a  statue — that  was  all. 
67 


And  once  I  saw  a  man  who  drew 

A  gloom  about  him  like  a  cloak, 
And  wandered  aimlessly.     The  few 

Who  spoke  of  him  at  all,  but  spoke 
Disparagingly  of  a  mind 
The  Fates  had  faultily  designed: 
Too  indolent  for  modern  times — 

Too  fanciful,  and  full  of  whims — 
For,  talking  to  himself  in  rhymes, 

And  scrawling  never-heard-of  hymns, 
The  idle  life  to  which  he  clung 
Was  worthless  as  the  songs  he  sung! 
I  saw  him,  in  my  vision,  rilled 

With  rapture  o'er  a  spray  of  bloom 
The  wind  threw  in  his  lonely  room ; 
And  of  the  sweet  perfume  it  spilled 
He  drank  to  drunkenness,  and  flung 
His  long  hair  back,  and  laughed  and  sung 
And  clapped  his  hands  as  children  do 
At  fairy  tales  they  listen  to, 

68 


While  from  his  flying  quill  there  dripped 

Such  music  on  his  manuscript 

That  he  who  listens  to  the  words 

May  close  his  eyes  and  dream  the  birds 

Are  twittering  on  every  hand 

A  language  he  can  understand. 

He  journeyed  on  through  life,  unknown, 

Without  one  friend  to  call  his  own ; 

He  tired.     No  kindly  hand  to  press 

The  cooling  touch  of  tenderness 

Upon  his  burning  brow,  nor  lift 

To  his  parched  lips  God's  freest  gift — 

No  sympathetic  sob  or  sigh 

Of  trembling  lips — no  sorrowing  eye 

Looked  out  through  tears  to  see  him  die. 

And  Fame  her  greenest  laurels  brought 

To  crown  a  head  that  heeded  not. 

And  this  is  Fame!     A  thing,  indeed, 
That  only  comes  when  least  the  need : 
The  wisest  minds  of  every  age 
The  book  of  life  from  page  to  page 
69 


FAME 

Have  searched  in  vain ;  each  lesson  conned 

Will  promise  it  the  page  beyond — 

Until  the  last,  when  dusk  of  night 

Falls  over  it,  and  reason's  light 

Is  smothered  by  that  unknown  friend 

Who  signs  his  nom  de  plume,  The  End. 


70 


THE  RIPEST  PEACH 

THE  ripest  peach  is  highest  on  the  tree — 
And  so  her  love,  beyond  the  reach  of  me, 
Is  dearest  in  my  sight.     Sweet  breezes  bow 
Her  heart  down  to  me  where  I  worship  now! 

She  looms  aloft  where  every  eye  may  see 
The  ripest  peach  is  highest  on  the  tree. 
Such  fruitage  as  her  love  I  know,  alas! 
I  may  not  reach  here  from  the  orchard  grass. 

I  drink  the  sunshine  showered  past  her  lips 
As  roses  drain  the  dewdrop  as  it  drips. 
The  ripest  peach  is  highest  on  the  tree, 
And  so  mine  eyes  gaze  upward  eagerly. 

Why — why  do  I  not  turn  away  in  wrath 
And  pluck  some  heart  here  hanging  in  my  path  ? — 
Love's  lower  boughs  bend  with  them — but,  ah  me! 
The  ripest  peach  is  highest  on  the  tree ! 


A  FRUIT-PIECE 

THE  afternoon  of  summer  folds 
Its  warm  arms  round  the  marigolds, 

And,  with  its  gleaming  fingers,  pets 
The  watered  pinks  and  violets 

That  from  the  casement  vases  spill, 
Over  the  cottage  window-sill, 

Their  fragrance  down  the  garden  walks 
Where  droop  the  dry-mouthed  hollyhocks. 

How  vividly  the  sunshine  scrawls 
The  grape-vine  shadows  on  the  walls ! 

How  like  a  truant  swings  the  breeze 
In  high  boughs  of  the  apple-trees! 

The  slender  "free-stone"  lifts  aloof, 
Full  languidly  above  the  roof, 

72 


A    FRUIT-PIECE 

A  hoard  of  fruitage,  stamped  with  gold 
And  precious  mintings  manifold. 

High  up,  through  curled  green  leaves,  a  pear 
Hangs  hot.  with  ripeness  here  and  there. 

Beneath  the  sagging  trellisings, 
In  lush,  lack-lustre  clusterings, 

Great  torpid  grapes,  all  fattened  through 
With  moon  and  sunshine,  shade  and  dew, 

Until  their  swollen  girths  express 
But  forms  of  limp  deliciousness — 

Drugged  to  an  indolence  divine 
With  heaven's  own  sacramental  wine. 


73 


THEIR  SWEET  SORROW 

THEY  meet  to  say  farewell :     Their  way 

Of  saying  this  is  hard  to  say. — 

He  holds  her  hand  an  instant,  wholly 
Distressed — and  she  unclasps  it  slowly. 

He  lends  his  gaze  evasively 

Over  the  printed  page  that  she 

Recurs  to,  with  a  new-moon  shoulder 
Glimpsed  from  the  lace-mists  that  infold  her. 

The  clock,  beneath  its  crystal  cup, 

Discreetly  clicks— "Quick!     Act!     Speak  up/' 

A  tension  circles  both  her  slender 

Wrists — and  her  raised  eyes  flash  in  splendor, 

Even  as  he  feels  his  dazzled  own. — 
Then,  blindingly,  round  either  thrown, 
They  feel  a  stress  of  arms  that  ever 
Strain  tremblingly — and  "Never!    Never!" 
74 


THEIR    SWEET    SORROW 


Is  whispered  brokenly,  with  half 

A  sob,  like  a  belated  laugh, — 

While  cloyingly  their  blurred  kiss  closes,- 
Sweet  as  the  dew's  lip  to  the  rose's. 


75 


JOHN  McKEEN 

JOHN  McKEEN,  in  his  rusty  dress, 

His  loosened  collar,  and  swarthy  throat, 
His  face  unshaven,  and  none  the  less, 
His  hearty  laugh  and  his  wholesomeness, 
And  the  wealth  of  a  workman's  vote! 

Bring  him,  O  Memory,  here  once  more, 

And  tilt  him  back  in  his  Windsor  chair 
By  the  kitchen  stove,  when  the  day  is  o'er 
And  the  light  of  the  hearth  is  across  the  floor, 
And  the  crickets  everywhere ! 

And  let  their  voices  be  gladly  blent 

With  a  watery  jingle  of  pans  and  spoons, 
And  a  motherly  chirrup  of  sweet  content, 
And  neighborly  gossip  and  merriment, 
And  old-time  fiddle-tunes ! 
76 


JOHN    M  KEEN 

Tick  the  clock  with  a  wooden  sound, 

And  fill  the  hearing  with  childish  glee 
Of  rhyming  riddle,  or  story  found 
In  the  Robinson  Crusoe,  leather-bound 
Old  book  of  the  Used-to-be ! 

John  McKeen  of  the  Past!     Ah,  John, 

To  have  grown  ambitious  in  worldly  ways! ~— 
To  have  rolled  your  shirt-sleeves  down,  to  don 
A  broadcloth  suit,  and,  forgetful,  gone 
Out  on  election  days-! 

John,  ah,  John!   did  it  prove  your  worth 

To  yield  you  the  office  you  still  maintain? — 

To  fill  your  pockets,  but  leave  the  dearth 

Of  all  the  happier  things  on  earth 
To  the  hunger  of  heart  and  brain  ? 

Under  the  dusk  of  your  villa  trees, 

Edging  the  drives  where  your  blooded  span 
Paw  the  pebbles  and  wait  your  ease, — 
Where  are  the  children  about  your  knees, 
And  the  mirth,  and  the  happy  man? 
77 


JOHN    M  KEEN 

The  blinds  of  your  mansion  are  battened  to ; 

Your  faded  wife  is  a  close  recluse ; 
And  .your  "  finished"  daughters  will  doubtless  do 
Dutifully  all  that  is  willed  of  you, 

And  marry  as  you  shall  choose! — 

But  O  for  the  old-home  voices,  blent 

With  the  watery  jingle  of  pans  and  spoons, 
And  the  motherly  chirrup  of  glad  content, 
And  neighborly  gossip  and  merriment, 
And  the  old-time  fiddle-tunes ! 


OUT  OF  NAZARETH 

'  HE  shall  sleep  unscathed  of  thieves 
Who  loves  Allah  and  believes." 
Thus  heard  one  who  shared  the  tent, 
In  the  far-off  Orient, 
Of  the  Bedouin  ben  Ahrzz — 
Nobler  never  loved  the  stars 
Through  the  palm-leaves  nigh  the  dim 
Dawn  his  courser  neighed  to  him ! 

He  said:   "  Let  the  sands  be  swarmed 

With  such  thieves  as  I,  and  thou 
Shalt  at  morning  rise,  unharmed, 

Light  as  eyelash  to  the  brow 
Of  thy  camel,  amber-eyed, 
Ever  munching  either  side, 
Striding  still,  with  nestled  knees, 
Through  the  midnight's  oases. 
79 


OUT    OF    NAZARETH 

'  Who  can  rob  thee  an  thou  hast 
More  than  this  that  thou  hast  cast 
At  my  feet — this  dust  of  gold  ? 
Simply  this  and  that,  all  told ! 
Hast  thou  not  a  treasure  of 
Such  a  thing  as  men  call  love? 

'  Can  the  dusky  band  I  lead 
Rob  thee  of  thy  daily  need 
Of  a  whiter  soul,  or  steal 
What  thy  lordly  prayers  reveal? 
Who  could  be  enriched  of  thee 
By  such  hoard  of  poverty 
As  thy  niggard  hand  pretends 
To  dole  me — thy  worst  of  friends  ? 

Therefore  shouldst  thou  pause  to  bless 
One  indeed  who  blesses  thee : 

Robbing  thee,  I  dispossess 
But  myself. — Pray  thou  for  me!  " 

He  shall  sleep  unscathed  of  thieves 
Who  loves  Allah  and  believes. 


80 


SEPTEMBER  DARK 

i 

THE  air  falls  chill; 
The  whippoorwill 
Pipes  lonesomely  behind  the  hill : 
The  dusk  grows  dense, 
The  silence  tense; 
And  lo,  the  katydids  commence. 


Through  shadowy  rifts 
Of  woodland,  lifts 

The  low,  slow  moon,  and  upward  drifts. 
While  left  and  right 
The  fireflies'  light 

Swirls  eddying  in  the  skirts  of  Night. 
81 


SEPTEMBER    DARK 
UI 

O  Cloudland,  gray 

And  level,  lay 

Thy  mists  across  the  face  of  Day ! 

At  foot  and  head, 

Above  the  dead, 

O  Dews,  weep  on  uncomforted! 


WE  TO  SIGH  INSTEAD  OF  SING 

"  RAIN  and  rain !   and  rain  and  rain !  " 

Yesterday  we  muttered 
Grimly  as  the  grim  refrain 

That  the  thunders  uttered : 
All  the  heavens  under  cloud — 

All  the  sunshine  sleeping ; 
All  the  grasses  limply  bowed 

With  their  weight  of  weeping. 

Sigh  and  sigh!   and  sigh  and  sigh! 

Never  end  of  sighing; 
Rain  and  rain  for  our  reply — 

Hopes  half  drowned  and  dying; 
Peering  through  the  window-pane, 

Naught  but  endless  raining — 
Endless  sighing,  and,  as  vain, 

Endlessly  complaining. 
83 


WE    TO    SIGH    INSTEAD    OF    SING 

Shine  and  shine !   and  shine  and  shine ! 

Ah!   to-day  the  splendor! — 
All  this  glory  yours  and  mine — 

God !  but  God  is  tender ! 
We  to  sigh  instead  of  sing, 

Testerday,  in  sorrow, 
While  the  Lord  was  fashioning 

This  for  our  To-morrow ! 


84 


THE  BLOSSOMS  ON  THE  TREES 

BLOSSOMS  crimson,  white,  or  blue, 

Purple,  pink,  and  every  hue, 
From  sunny  skies,  to  tintings  drowned 

In  dusky  drops  of  dew, 
I  praise  you  all,  wherever  found, 

And  love  you  through  and  through ; — 
But,  Blossoms  On  The  Trees, 
With  your  breath  upon  the  breeze, 
There's  nothing  all  the  world  around 

As  half  as  sweet  as  you ! 

Could  the  rhymer  only  wring 

All  the  sweetness  to  the  lees 
Of  all  the  kisses  clustering 

In  juicy  Used-to-bes, 
To  dip  his  rhymes  therein  and  sing 

The  blossoms  on  the  trees, — 
"O  Blossoms  on  the  Trees," 

He  would  twitter,  trill,  and  coo, 
85 


THE   BLOSSOMS    ON    THE    TREES 

"However  sweet,  such  songs  as  these 

Are  not  as  sweet  as  you : — 
For  you  are  blooming  melodies 
The  eyes  may  listen  tol" 


LAST  NIGHT— AND, THIS 

LAST  night — how  deep  the  darkness  was ! 
And  well  I  knew  its  depths,  because 
I  waded  it  from  shore  to  shore, 
Thinking  to  reach  the  light  no  more. 

She  would  not  even  touch  my  hand. — 
The  winds  rose  and  the  cedars  fanned 
The  moon  out,  and  the  stars  fled  back 
In  heaven  and  hid — and  all  was  black! 

But  ah !     To-night  a  summons  came, 
Signed  with  a  tear-drop  for  a  name, — 
For  as  I  wondering  kissed  it,  lo, 
A  line  beneath  it  told  me  so. 

And  now — the  moon  hangs  over  me 
A  disk  of  dazzling  brilliancy, 
And  every  star-tip  stabs  my  sight 
With  splintered  glitterings  of  light! 


A  DISCOURAGING  MODEL 

JUST  the  airiest,  f  airiest  slip  of  a  thing, 
With  a  Gainsborough  hat,  like  a  butterfly's  wing, 
Tilted  up  at  one  side  with  the  jauntiest  air, 
And  a  knot  of  red  roses  sown  in  under  there 
Where  the  shadows  are  lost  in  her  hair. 

Then  a  cameo  face,  carven  in  on  a  ground 
Of  that  shadowy  hair  where  the  roses  are  wound; 
And  the  gleam  of  a  smile,  O  as  fair  and  as  faint 
And  as  sweet  as  the  masters  of  old  used  to  paint 
Round  the  lips  of  their  favorite  saint ! 

And  that  lace  at  her  throat — and  the  fluttering  hands 
Snowing  there,  with  a  grace  that  no  art  understands, 
The  flakes  of  their  touches — first  fluttering  at 
The  bow — then  the  i-oses — the  hair — and  then  that 
Little  tilt  of  the  Gainsborough  hat. 

Ah,  what  artist  on  earth  with  a  model  like  this, 
Holding  not  on  his  palette  the  tint  of  a  kiss, 
Nor  a  pigment  to  hint  of  the  hue  of  her  hair 
Nor  the  gold  of  her  smile — O  what  artist  could  dare 
To  expect  a  result  half  so  fair? 


BACK  FROM  A  TWO- YEARS'  SENTENCE 

BACK  from  a  two-years'  sentence! 

And  though  it  had  been  ten, 
You  think,  I  were  scarred  no  deeper 

In  the  eyes  of  my  fellow-men. 
"My  fellow-men"  ? — sounds  like  a  satire, 

You  think — and  I  so  allow, 
Here  in  my  home  since  childhood, 

Yet  more  than  a  stranger  now ! 

Pardon ! — Not  wholly  a  stranger, — 

For  I  have  a  wife  and  child : 
That  woman  has  wept  for  two  long  years, 

And  yet  last  night  she  smiled ! — 
Smiled,  as  I  leapt  from  the  platform 

Of  the  midnight  train,  and  then — 
All  that  I  knew  was  that  smile  of  hers, 

And  our  babe  in  my  arms  again  I 
89 


BACK    FROM    A    TWO-YEARS'    SENTENCE 

Back  from  a  two-years'  sentence — 

But  I've  thought  the  whole  thing  through,- 
A  hint  of  it  came  when  the  bars  swung  back 

And  I  looked  straight  up  in  the  blue 
Of  the  blessed  skies  with  my  hat  off ! 

O-ho!     I've  a  wife  and  child: 
That  woman  has  wept  for  two  long  years, 

And  yet  last  night  she  smiled ! 


THE  WANDERING  JEW 

THE  stars  are  falling,  and  the  sky 
Is  like  a  field  of  faded  flowers ; 
The  winds  on  weary  wings  go  by ; 

The  moon  hides,  and  the  tempest  lowers ; 
And  still  through  every  clime  and  age 
I  wander  on  a  pilgrimage 
That  all  men  know  an  idle  quest, 
For  that  the  goal  I  seek  is — REST  ! 

I  hear  the  voice  of  summer  streams, 

And,  following,  I  find  the  brink 
Of  cooling  springs,  with  childish  dreams 
Returning  as  I  bend  to  drink — 

But  suddenly,  with  startled  eyes, 
My  face  looks  on  its  grim  disguise 
Of  long  gray  beard ;  and  so,  distressed, 
I  hasten  on,  nor  taste  of  rest. 
91 


THE    WANDERING    JEW 

I  come  upon  a  merry  group 

Of  children  in  the  dusky  wood, 
Who  answer  back  the  owlet's  whoop, 
That  laughs  as  it  had  understood ; 

And  I  would  pause  a  little  space, 
But  that  each  happy  blossom-face 
Is  like  to  one  His  hands  have  blessed 
Who  sent  me  forth  in  search  of  rest. 

Sometimes  I  fain  would  stay  my  feet 
In  shady  lanes,  where  huddled  kine 
Couch  in  the  grasses  cool  and  sweet, 
And  lift  their  patient  eyes  to  mine ; 
But  I,  for  thoughts  that  ever  then 
Go  back  to  Bethlehem  again, 
Must  needs  fare  on  my  weary  quest, 
And  weep  for  very  need  of  rest. 

Is  there  no  end  ?  I  plead  in  vain : 
Lost  worlds  nor  living  answer  me. 

Since  Pontius  Pilate's  awful  reign 
Have  I  not  passed  eternity? 


THE    WANDERING   JEW 

Have  I  not  drunk  the  fetid  breath 

Of  every  fevered  phase  of  death, 

And  come  unscathed  through  every  pest 

And  scourge  and  plague  that  promised  rest  ? 

Have  I  not  seen  the  stars  go  out 

That  shed  their  light  o'er  Galilee, 
And  mighty  kingdoms  tossed  about 
And  crumbled  clod-like  in  the  sea? 
Dead  ashes  of  dead  ages  blow 
And  cover  me  like  drifting  snow, 
And  time  laughs  on  as  'twere  a  jest 
That  I  have  any  need  of  rest. 


93 


BECALMED 


WOULD  that  the  winds  might  only  blow 

As  they  blew  in  the  golden  long  ago ! — 

Laden  with  odors  of  Orient  isles 

Where  ever  and  ever  the  sunshine  smiles, 

And  the  bright  sands  blend  with  the  shady  trees> 

And  the  lotus  blooms  in  the  midst  of  these. 


Warm  winds  won  from  the  midland  vales 
To  where  the  tress  of  the  Siren  trails 
O'er  the  flossy  tip  of  the  mountain  phlox 
And  the  bare  limbs  twined  in  the  crested  rocks, 
High  above  as  the  sea-gulls  flap 
Their  lopping  wings  at  the  thunder-clap. 
94 


BECALMED 


Ah !  that  the  winds  might  rise  and  blow 
The  great  surge  up  from  the  port  below, 
Bloating  the  sad,  lank,  silken  sails 
Of  the  Argo  out  with  the  swift,  sweet  gales 
That  blew  from  Colchis  when  Jason  had 
His  love's  full  will  and  his  heart  was  glad — 
When  Medea's  voice  was  soft  and  low. 
Ah !  that  the  winds  might  rise  and  blow ! 


95 


TO  SANTA  CLAUS 

MOST  tangible  of  all  the  gods  that  be, 
O  Santa  Claus — our  own  since  Infancy ! — 
As  first  we  scampered  to  thee — now,  as  then, 
Take  us  as  children  to  thy  heart  again. 

Be  wholly  good  to  us,  just  as  of  old : 
As  a  pleased  father,  let  thine  arms  infold 
Us,  homed  within  the  haven  of  thy  love, 
And  all  the  cheer  and  wholesomeness  thereof 

Thou  lone  reality,  when  O  so  long 
Life's  unrealities  have  wrought  us  wrong: 
Ambition  hath  allured  us, — fame  likewise, 
And  all  that  promised  honor  in  men's  eyes. 

Throughout  the  world's  evasions,  wiles,  and  shifts, 
Thou  only  biddest  stable  as  thy  gifts : — 
A  grateful  king  re-ruleth  from  thy  lap, 
Crowned  with  a  little  tinselled  soldier-cap : 
96 


TO    SANTA   CLAUS 

A,  mighty  general — a  nation's  pride — 
Thou  givest  again  a  rocking-horse  to  ride, 
And  wildly  glad  he  groweth  as  the  grim 
Old  jurist  with  the  drum  thou  givest  him : 

The  sculptor's  chisel,  at  thy  mirth's  command, 

Is  as  a  whistle  in  his  boyish  hand ; 

The  painter's  model  fadeth  utterly, 

And  there  thou  standest, — and  he  painteth  thee ; 

Most  like  a  winter  pippin,  sound  and  fine 
And  tingling-red  that  ripe  old  face  of  thine, 
Set  in  thy  frosty  beard  of  cheek  and  chin 
As  midst  the  snows  the  thaws  of  spring  set  in. 

Ho !   Santa  Claus — our  own  since  Infancy — 
Most  tangible  of  all  the  gods  that  be ! — 
As  first  we  scampered  to  thee — now,  as  then, 
Take  us  as  children  to  thy  heart  again. 


97 


WHERE  THE  CHILDREN  USED  TO  PLAY 

THE  old  farm-home  is  Mother's  yet  and  mine, 

And  filled  it  is  with  plenty  and  to  spare, — 
But  we  are  lonely  here  in  life's  decline, 

Though  fortune  smiles  around  us  everywhere : 

We  look  across  the  gold 

Of  the  harvests,  as  of  old — 
The  corn,  the  fragrant  clover,  and  the  hay; 

But  most  we  turn  our  gaze, 

As  with  eyes  of  other  days, 
To  the  orchard  where  the  children  used  to  play. 

Ofrom  our  life's  full  measure 
And  rich  hoard  of  worldly  treasure 

We  often  turn  our  weary  eyes  away, 
And  hand  in  hand  we  wandet 
Down  the  old  path  winding  yondet 

To  the  orchard  where  the  children  used  to  play. 
*98 


WHERE    THE    CHILDREN    USED    TO    PLAY 

Our  sloping  pasture-lands  are  filled  with  herds ; 
The  barn  and  granary-bins  are  bulging  o'er; 
The  grove's  a  paradise  of  singing  birds — 

The  woodland  brook  leaps  laughing  by  the  door 

Yet  lonely,  lonely  still, 

Let  us  prosper  as  we  will, 
Our  old  hearts  seem  so  empty  everyway — 

We  can  only  through  a  mist 

See  the  faces  we  have  kissed 
In  the  orchard  where  the  children  used  to  play. 

Ofrom  our  life's  full  measure 
And  rich  hoard  of  worldly  treasure 

We  often  turn  our  weary  eyes  away, 
And  hand  in  hand  we  wander 
Down  the  old  path  winding  yonder 

To  the  orchard  where  the  children  used  to  play. 


99 


A  GLIMPSE  OF  PAN 

I  CAUGHT  but  a  glimpse  of  him.     Summer  was  here, 
And  I  strayed  from  the  town  and  its  dust  and  heat, 

And  walked  in  a  wood,  while  the  noon  was  near, 

Where  the  shadows  were  cool,  and  the  atmosphere 
Was  misty  with  fragrances  stirred  by  my  feet 

From  surges  of  blossoms  that  billowed  sheer 
Of  the  grasses,  green  and  sweet. 

And  I  peered  through  a  vista  of  leaning  trees, 
Tressed  with  long  tangles  of  vines  that  swept 

To  the  face  of  a  river,  that  answered  these 

With  vines  in  the  wave  like  the  vines  in  the  breeze, 
Till  the  yearning  lips  of  the  ripples  crept 

And  kissed  them,  with  quavering  ecstasies, 
And  wistfully  laughed  and  wept. 


100 


A    GLIMPSE    OF    PAN 

And  there,  like  a  dream  in  a  swoon,  I  swear 
I  saw  Pan  lying, — his  limbs  in  the  dew 

And  the  shade,  and  his  face  in  the  dazzle  and  glare 

Of  the  glad  sunshine  ;  while  everywhere, 
Over,  across,  and  around  him  blew 

Filmy  dragon-flies  hither  and  there, 

And  little  white  butterflies,  two  and  two, 
In  eddies  of  odorous  air. 


101 


SONNETS 


103 


PAN 

THIS  Pan  is  but  an  idle  god,  I  guess, 

Since  all  the  fair  midsummer  of  my  dreams 
He  loiters  listlessly  by  woody  streams, 

Soaking  the  lush  glooms  up  with  laziness ; 

Or  drowsing  while  the  maiden-winds  caress 

Him  prankishly,  and  powder  him  with  gleams 
Of  sifted  sunshine.     And  he  ever  seems 

Drugged  with  a  joy  unutterable — unless 

His  low  pipes  whistle  hints  of  it  far  out 

Across  the  ripples  to  the  dragon-fly 

That,  like  a  wind-born  blossom  blown  about, 

Drops  quiveringly  down,  as  though  to  die — 
Then  lifts  and  wavers  on,  as  if  in  doubt 
Whether  to  fan  his  wings  or  fly  without. 


105 


DUSK 

THE  frightened  herds  of  clouds  across  the  sky 

Trample  the  sunshine  down,  and  chase  the  day 
Into  the  dusky  forest-lands  of  gray 

And  sombre  twilight.     Far,  and  faint,  and  high, 

The  wild  goose  trails  his  harrow,  with  a  cry 
Sad  as  the  wail  of  some  poor  castaway 
Who  sees  a  vessel  drifting  far  astray 

Of  his  last  hope,  and  lays  him  down  to  die. 

The  children,  riotous  from  school,  grow  bold 

And  quarrel  with  the  wind  whose  angry  gust 

Plucks  off  the  summer-hat,  and  flaps  the  fold 

Of  many  a  crimson  cloak,  and  twirls  the  dus1* 

In  spiral  shapes  grotesque,  and  dims  the  gold 
Of  gleaming  tresses  with  the  blur  of  rust 


JUNE 

0  QUEENLY   month  of  indolent  repose ! 

I  drink  thy  breath  in  sips  of  rare  perfume, 
As  in  thy  downy  lap  of  clover-bloom 

1  nestle  like  a  drowsy  child  and  doze 

The  lazy  hours  away.     The  zephyr  throws 
The  shifting  shuttle  of  the  Summer's  loom 
And  weaves  a  damask-work  of  gleam  and  gloom 
Before  thy  listless  feet.     The  lily  blows 
A  bugle-call  of  fragrance  o'er  the  glade; 

And,  wheeling  into  ranks,  with  plume  and  spear, 
Thy  harvest-armies  gather  on  parade ; 

While,  faint  and  far  away,  yet  pure  and  clear, 
A  voice  calls  out  of  alien  lands  of  shade : — 
AH  hail  the  Peerless  Goddess  of  the  Year! 


107 


SILENCE 

THOUSANDS  of  thousands  of  hushed  years  ago, 

Out  on  the  edge  of  Chaos,  all  alone 

I  stood  on  peaks  of  vapor,  high  upthrown 
Above  a  sea  that  knew  nor  ebb  nor  flow, 
Nor  any  motion  won  of  winds  that  blow, 

Nor  any  sound  of  watery  wail  or  moan, 

Nor  lisp  of  wave,  nor  wandering  undertone 
Of  any  tide  lost  in  the  night  below. 
So  still  it  was,  I  mind  me,  as  I  laid 

My  thirsty  ear  against  mine  own  faint  sigh 
To  drink  of  that,  I  sipped  it,  half  afraid 

'Twas  but  the  ghost  of  a  dead  voice  spilled  by 
The  one  starved  star  that  tottered  through  the  shade 

And  came  tiptoeing  toward  me  down  the  sky. 


108 


SLEEP 

THOU  drowsy  god,  whose  blurred  eyes,  half  awink, 
Muse  on  me, — drifting  out  upon  thy  dreams, 
I  lave  my  soul  as  in  enchanted  streams 

Where  revelling  satyrs  pipe  along  the  brink, 

And,  tipsy  with  the  melody  they  drink, 

Uplift  their  dangling  hooves,  and  down  the  beams 
Of  sunshine  dance  like  motes.     Thy  languor  seems 

An  ocean-depth  of  love  wherein  I  sink 

Like  some  fond  Argonaut,  right  willingly, — 

Because  of  wooing  eyes  upturned  to  mine, 
And  siren-arms  that  coil  their  sorcery 

About  my  neck,  with  kisses  so  divine, 
The  heavens  reel  above  me,  and  the  sea 
Swallows  and  licks  its  wet  lips  over  me. 


109 


HER  HAIR 

THE  beauty  of  her  hair  bewilders  me — 
Pouring  adown  the  brow,  its  cloven  tide 
Swirling  about  the  ears  on  either  side 

And  storming  round  the  neck  tumultuously; 

Or  like  the  lights  of  old  antiquity 

Through  mullioned  windows,  in  cathedrals  wide 
Spilled  moltenly  o'er  figures  deified 

In  chastest  marble,  nude  of  drapery. 

And  so  I  love  it. — Either  unconfined ; 
Or  plaited  in  close  braidings  manifold; 

Or  smoothly  drawn ;  or  indolently  twined 

In  careless  knots  whose  coilings  come  unrolled 

At  any  lightest  kiss ;  or  by  the  wind 

Whipped  out  in  flossy  ravellings  of  gold. 


no 


DEARTH 

I  HOLD  your  trembling  hand  to-night — and  yet 
I  ma}'  not  know  what  wealth  of  bliss  is  mine, 
My  heart  is  such  a  curious  design 
Of  trust  and  jealousy!     Your  eyes  are  wet — 
So  must  I  think  they  jewel  some  regret, — 
And  lo,  the  loving  arms  that  round  me  twine 
Cling  only  as  the  tendrils  of  a  vine 
Whose  fruit  has  long  been  gathered :   I  forget, 
While  crimson  clusters  of  your  kisses  press 
Their  wine  out  on  my  lips,  my  royal  fair 
Of  rapture,  since  blind  fancy  needs  must  guess 

They  once  poured  out  their  sweetness  otherwhere, 
With  fuller  flavoring  of  happiness 

Than  e'en  your  broken  sobs  may  now  declare. 


Ill 


A  VOICE  FROM  THE  FARM 

IT  is  my  dream  to  have  you  here  with  me, 
Out  of  the  heated  city's  dust  and  din — 
Here  where  the  colts  have  room  to  gambol  in, 
And  kine  to  graze,  in  clover  to  the  knee. 
I  want  to  see  your  wan  face  happily 

Lit  with  the  wholesome  smiles  that  have  not  been 
In  use  since  the  old  games  you  used  to  win 
When  we  pitched  horseshoes :     And  I  want  to  be 
At  utter  loaf  with  you  in  this  dim  land 

Of  grove  and  meadow,  while  the  crickets  make 

Our  own  talk  tedious,  and  the  bat  wields 
His  bulky  flight,  as  we  cease  converse  and 
In  a  dusk  like  velvet  smoothly  take 

Our  way  toward  home  across  the  dewy  fields. 


THE  SERENADE 

THE  midnight  is  not  more  bewildering 

To  her  drowsed  eyes,  than,  to  her  ears,  the  sound 
Of  dim,  sweet  singing  voices,  interwound 

With  purl  of  flute  and  subtle  twang  of  string, 

Strained  through  the  lattice,  where  the  roses  cling 
And,  with  their  fragrance,  waft  the  notes  around 
Her  haunted  senses.     Thirsting  beyond  bound 

Of  her  slow-yielding  dreams,  the  lilt  and  swing 
Of  the  mysterious    delirious  tune, 

She  drains  like  some  strange  opiate,  with  awed  eyes 
Upraised  against  her  casement,  where,  aswoon, 

The  stars  fail  from  her  sight,  and  up  the  skies 
Of  alien  azure  rolls  the  full  round  moon 
Like  some  vast  bubble  blown  of  summer  noon. 


ART  AND  LOVE 

HE  faced  his  canvas  (as  a  seer  whose  ken 
Pierces  the  crust  of  this  existence  through) 
And  smiled  beyond  on  that  his  genius  knew 

Ere  mated  with  his  being.     Conscious  then 

Of  his  high  theme  alone,  he  smiled  again 
Straight  back  upon  himself  in  many  a  hue 
And  tint,  and  light  and  shade,  which  slowly  grew 

Enfeatured  of  a  fair  girl's  face,  as  when 

First  time  she  smiles  for  love's  sake  with  no  fear. 

So  wrought  he,  witless  that  behind  him  leant 
A  woman,  with  old  features,  dim  and  sear, 
And  glamoured  eyes  that  felt  the  brimming  tear, 

And  with  a  voice,  like  some  sad  instrument, 

That  sighing  said,  "I'm  dead  there  ;  love  me  here !' 


114 


LONGFELLOW 

THE  winds  have  talked  with  him  confidingly ; 
The  trees  have  whispered  to  him ;   and  the  night 
Hath  held  him  gently  as  a  mother  might, 

And  taught  him  all  sad  tones  of  melody: 

The  mountains  have  bowed  to  him ;   and  the  sea, 
In  clamorous  waves,  and  murmurs  exquisite, 
Hath  told  him  all  her  sorrow  and  delight — 

Her  legends  fair — her  darkest  mystery. 

His  verse  blooms  like  a  flower,  night  and  day ; 

Bees  cluster  round  his  rhymes;   and  twitterings 
Of  lark  and  swallow,  in  an  endless  May, 

Are  mingling  with  the  tender  songs  he  sings. — 
Nor  shall  he  cease  to  sing — in  every  lay 
Of  Nature's  voice  he  sings — and  will  alway. 


INDIANA 

OUR  Land— our  Home ! — the  common  home  indeed 
Of  soil-born  children  and  adopted  ones — 
The  stately  daughters  and  the  stalwart  sons 

Of  Industry: — All  greeting  and  godspeed! 

O  home  to  proudly  live  for,  and,  if  need 
Be,  proudly  die  for,  with  the  roar  of  guns 
Blent  with  our  latest  prayer. — So  died  men  once.  .   .   . 

Lo,  Peace!    .   .  .  As  we  look  on  the  land  THEY  freed — 
Its  harvests  all  in  ocean-overflow 

Poured  round  autumnal  coasts  in  billowy  gold — 
Its  corn  and  wine  and  balm&d  fruits  and  flow'rs, — 
We  know  the  exaltation  that  they  know 
Who  now,  steadfast  inheritors,  behold 
The  Land  Elysian,  marvelling  "This  is  ours!" 


1x6 


TIME 


THE  ticking — ticking — ticking  of  the  clock! — 

That  vexed  me  so  last  night! — "For  though  Time 

keeps 
Such  drowsy  watch,"  I  moaned,  "he  never  sleeps, 

But  only  nods  above  the  world  to  mock 

Its  restless  occupant,  then  rudely  rock 
It  as  the  cradle  of  a  babe  that  weeps!  " 
I  seemed  to  see  the  seconds  piled  in  heaps 

Like  sand  about  me ;   and  at  every  shock 

O'  the  bell,  the  pilfed  sands  were  swirled  away 

As  by  a  desert-storm  that  swept  the  earth 
'  Stark  as  a  granary  floor,  whereon  the  gray 

And  mist-bedrizzled  moon  amidst  the  dearth 
Came  crawling,  like  a  sickly  child,  to  lay 
Its  pale  face  next  mine  own  and  weep  for  day. 
117 


TIME 


Wait  for  the  morning !     Ah !  we  wait  indeed 
For  daylight,  we  who  toss  about  through  stress 
Of  vacant-armed  desires  and  emptiness 

Of  all  the  warm,  warm  touches  that  we  need, 

And  the  warm  kisses  upon  which  we  feed 
Our  famished  lips  in  fancy !     May  God  bless 
The  starved  lips  of  us  with  but  one  caress 

Warm  as  the  yearning  blood  our  poor  hearts  bleed ! 

...  A  wild  prayer! — bite  thy  pillow,  praying  so — 
Toss  this  side,  and  whirl  that,  and  moan  for  dawn ; 

Let  the  clock's  seconds  dribble  out  their  woe, 

And  Time  be  drained  of  sorrow !     Long  ago 
We  heard  the  crowing  cock,  with  answer  drawn 
As  hoarsely  sad  at  throat  as  sobs.  .  .  .  Pray  on ! 


118 


GRANT 

AT  REST— AUGUST  8,  1885 


119 


Sir  Launcelot  rode  overthwart  and  endlong  in  a 
wide  forest,  and  held  no  path  but  as  wild  adventure 
led  him.  .  .  .  And  he  returned  and  came  again  to 
his  horse,  and  took  off  his  saddle  and  his  bridle, 
and  let  him  pasture;  and  unlaced  his  helm,  and 
ungirdled  his  sword,  and  laid  him  down  to  sleep 
upon  his  shield  before  the  cross. — AGE  OF  CHIVALRY. 


120 


GRANT 

WHAT  shall  we  say  of  the  soldier,  Grant, 

His  sword  put  by  and  his  great  soul  free  ? 
How  shall  we  cheer  him  now  or  chant 

His  requiem  befittingly? 
The  fields  of  his  conquest  now  are  seen 

Ranged  no  more  with  his  armSd  men — 
But  the  rank  and  file  of  the  gold  and  green 

Of  the  waving  grain  is  there  again. 

Though  his  valiant  life  is  a  nation's  pride, 

And  his  death  heroic  and  half  divine, 
And  our  grief  as  great  as  the  world  is  wide, 

There  breaks  in  speech  but  a  single  line: — 
We  loved  him  living,  revere  him  dead ! — 

A  silence  then  on  our  lips  is  laid : 
We  can  say  no  thing  that  has  not  been  said, 

Nor  pray  one  prayer  that  has  not  been  prayed. 

But  a  spirit  within  us  speaks :   and  lo, 
We  lean  and  listen  to  wondrous  words 

That  have  a  sound  as  of  winds  that  blow, 
And  the  voice  of  waters  and  low  of  herds ; 

121 


GRANT 

And  we  hear,  as  the  song  flows  on  serene, 
The  neigh  of  horses,  and  then  the  beat 

Of  hooves  that  skurry  o'er  pastures  green, 
And  the  patter  and  pad  of  a  boy's  bare  feet. 

A  brave  lad,  wearing  a  manly  brow, 

Knit  as  with  problems  of  grave  dispute, 
And  a  face,  like  the  bloom  of  the  orchard  bough, 

Pink  and  pallid,  but  resolute ; 
And  flushed  it  grows  as  the  clover-bloom, 

And  fresh  it  gleams  as  the  morning  dew, 
As  he  reins  his  steed  where  the  quick  quails  boom 

Up  from  the  grasses  he  races  through. 

And  ho!   as  he  rides  what  dreams  are  his? 

And  what  have  the  breezes  to  suggest? — 
Do  they  whisper  to  him  of  shells  that  whiz 

O'er  fields  made  ruddy  with  wrongs  redressed? 
Does  the  hawk  above  him  an  Eagle  float? 

Does  he  thrill  and  his  boyish  heart  beat  high, 
Hearing  the  ribbon  about  his  throat 

Flap  as  a  Flag  as  the  winds  go  by? 
122 


GRANT 

And  does  he  dream  of  the  Warrior's  fame — 

This  Western  boy  in  his  rustic  dress  ? 
For,  in  miniature,  this  is  the  man  that  came 

Riding  out  of  the  Wilderness ! — 
The  selfsame  figure — the  knitted  brow — 

The  eyes  full  steady — the  lips  full  mute — 
And  the  face,  like  the  bloom  of  the  orchard  bough, 

Pink  and  pallid,  but  resolute. 

Ay,  this  is  the  man,  with  features  grim 

And  stoical  as  the  Sphinx's  own, 
That  heard  the  harsh  guns  calling  him, 

As  musical  as  the  bugle  blown, 
When  the  sweet  spring  heavens  were  clouded  o'er 

With  a  tempest,  glowering  and  wild, 
And  our  country's  flag  bowed  down  before 

Its  bursting  wrath  as  a  stricken  child. 

Thus,  ready  mounted  and  booted  and  spurred, 
He  loosed  his  bridle  and  dashed  away! — 

Like  a  roll  of  drums  were  his  hoof-beats  heard, 
Like  the  shriek  of  the  fife  his  charger's  neigh! 
123 


GRANT 

And  over  his  shoulder  and  backward  blown, 
We  heard  his  voice,  and  we  saw  the  sod 

Reel,  as  our  wild  steeds  chased  his  own 
As  though  hurled  on  by  the  hand  of  God ! 

And  still,  in  fancy,  we  see  him  ride 

In  the  blood-red  front  of  a  hundred  frays, 
His  face  set  stolid,  but  glorified 

As  a  knight's  of  the  old  Arthurian  days: 
And  victor  ever  as  courtly,  too, 

Gently  lifting  the  vanquished  foe, 
And  staying  him  with  a  hand  as  true 

As  dealt  the  deadly  avenging  blow. 

So,  brighter  than  all  of  the  cluster  of  stars 

Of  the  flag  enshrouding  his  form  to-day, 
His  face  shines  forth  from  the  grime  of  wars 

With  a  glory  that  shall  not  pass  away : 
He  rests  at  last:  he  has  borne  his  part 

Of  salutes  and  salvos  and  cheers  on  cheers — 
But  O  the  sobs  of  his  country's  heart, 

And  the  driving  rain  of  a  nation's  tears ! 
124 


IN  DIALECT 


OLD-FASHIONED  ROSES 

THEY  ain't  no  style  about  'em, 

And  they're  sorto'  pale  and  faded, 
Yit  the  doorway  here,  without  'em, 
Would  be  lonesomer,  and  shaded 
With  a  good  'eal  blacker  shadder 

Than  the  morning-glories  makes, 

And  the  sunshine  would  look  sadder 

Fer  their  good  old-fashion'  sakes. 

I  like  'em  'cause  they  kindo'- 

Sorto'  make  a  feller  like  'em ! 
And  I  tell  you,  when  I  find  a 

Bunch  out  whur  the  sun  kin  strike  'em, 
It  allus  sets  me  thinkin' 

O'  the  ones  'at  used  to  grow 
And  peek  in  thro'  the  chinkin' 
O'  the  cabin,  don't  you  know! 
127 


OLD-FASHIONED    ROSES 

And  then  I  think  o'  mother, 

And  how  she  ust  to  love  'em — 
When  they  wuzn't  any  other, 

'Less  she  found  'em  up  above  'em ! 
And  her  eyes,  afore  she  shut  'em, 

Whispered  with  a  smile  and  said 

We  must  pick  a  bunch  and  putt  'em 

In  her  hand  when  she  wuz  dead. 

But,  as  I  wuz  a-sayin', 

They  ain't  no  style  about  'em 
Very  gaudy  er  displaying 

But  I  wouldn't  be  without  'em, — 
'Cause  I'm  happier  in  these  posies, 

And  the  hollyhawks  and  sich, 
Than  the  hummin'-bird  'at  noses 
In  the  roses  of  the  rich. 


128 


GRIGGSBY'S  STATION 

PAP'S  got  his  patent-right,  and  rich  as  all  creation ; 

But  where' s  the  peace  and  comfort  that  we  all  had 

before  ? 
Le's  go  a-visitin'  back  to  Griggsby's  Station — 

Back  where  we  ust  to  be  so  happy  and  so  pore ! 

The  likes  of  us  a-livin'  here!     It's  jest  a  mortal  pity 
To  see  us  in  this  great  big  house,  with  cyarpets  on 

the  stairs, 
And  the  pump  right  in  the  kitchen !    And  the  city !  city ! 

city! — 
And  nothin'  but  the  city  all  around  us  ever'wheres ! 

Climb  clean  above  the  roof  and  look  from  the  steeple. 

And  never  see  a  robin,  nor  a  beech  or  ellum  tree ! 
And  right  here  in  ear-shot  of  at  least  a  thousan'  people, 
And  none  that  neighbors  with  us  or  we  want  to  go 
and  see! 

129 


GRIGGSBY'S  STATION 

Le's  go  a-visitin'  back  to  Griggsby's  Station — 

Back  where  the  latch-string's  a-hangin'  from  the  door. 

And  ever'  neighbor  round  the  place  is  dear  as  a  relation — 
Back  where  we  ust  to  be  so  happy  and  so  pore ! 

I  want  to  see  the  Wiggenses,  the  whole  kit-and-bilin', 
A-drivin'  up  from  Shallor  Ford  to  stay  the  Sunday 

through ; 
And  I  want  to  see  'em  hitchin'  at  their  son-in-law's  and 

pilin' 
Out  there  at  'Lizy  Ellen's  like  they  ust  to  do! 

I  want  to  see  the  piece-quilts  the  Jones  girls  is  makin' ; 
And  I  want  to  pester  Laury  'bout  their  freckled  hired 

hand, 
And  joke  her  'bout  the  widower  she  come  purt'  nigh 

a-takin', 

Till  her  Pap  got  his  pension  'lowed  in  time  to  save 
his  land. 

Le's  go  a-visitin'  back  to  Griggsby's  Station — 
Back  where  they's  nothin'  aggervatin'  any  more. 

Shet  away  safe  in  the  woods  around  the  old  location — 
Back  where  we  ust  to  be  so  happy  and  so  pore ! 
130 


GRIGGSBY'S  STATION 

I  want  to  see  Marindy  and  he'p  her  with  her  sewin', 
And  hear  her  talk  so  lovin'  of  her  man  that's  dead 

and  gone, 
And  stand  up  with  Emanuel  to  show  me  how  he's 

growin' , 

And  smile  as  I  have  saw  her  'fore  she  putt  her 
mournin'  on. 

And  I  want  to  see  the  Samples,  on  the  old  lower  eighty, 
Where  John,  our  oldest  boy,  he  was  tuk  and  hurried 
—for 

His  own  sake  and  Katy's, — and  I  want  to  cry  with  Katy 
As  she  reads  all  his  letters  over,  writ  from  The  War. 

What's  in  all  this  grand  life  and  high  situation, 
And  nary  pink  nor  hollyhawk  a-bloomin'  at  the 
door  ? — 

Le's  go  a-visitin'  back  to  Griggsby's  Station — 
Back  where  we  ust  to  be  so  happy  and  so  pore ! 


'3' 


KNEE-DEEP  IN  JUNE 

i 

TELL  you  what  I  like  the  best — 
'Long  about  knee-deep  in  June, 

'Bout  the  time  strawberries  melts 
On  the  vine, — some  afternoon 
Like  to  jes'  git  out  and  rest, 

And  not  work  at  nothin'  else ! 


Orchard's  where  I'd  ruther  be — 
Needn't  fence  it  in  fer  me ! — 

Jes'  the  whole  sky  overhead, 
And  the  whole  airth  underneath— 
Sorto'  so's  a  man  kin  breathe 

Like  he  ort,  and  kindo'  has 
Elbow-room  to  keerlessly 

Sprawl  out  len'thways  on  the  grass 
132 


KNEE-DEEP    INT   JUNE 

Where  the  shadders  thick  and  soft 
As  the  kivvers  on  the  bed 
Mother  fixes  in  the  loft 
Allus,  when  they's  company! 


Jes'  a-sorto'  lazin*  there — 

S'lazy,  'at  you  peek  and  peer 

Through  the  wavin'  leaves  above, 
Like  a  feller  'ats  in  love 

And  don't  know  it,  ner  don't  keer! 

Ever' thing  you  hear  and  see 
Got  some  sort  o'  interest — 
Maybe  find  a  bluebird's  nest 

Tucked  up  there  conveenently 

Fer  the  boy  'at's  ap'  to  be 

Up  some  other  apple-tree ! 
Watch  the  swallers  skootin'  past 
'Bout  as  peert  as  you  could  ast; 

Er  the  Bob-white  raise  and  whiz 

Where  some  other's  whistle  is. 

133 


KNES-DEEP    IN   JUNE 
IV 

Ketch  a  shadder  down  below, 
And  look  up  to  find  the  crow — 
Er  a  hawk, — away  up  there, 
'Pearantly  froze  in  the  air! — 

Hear  the  old  hen  squawk,  and  squat 

Over  ever'  chick  she's  got, 
Suddent-like ! — and  she  knows  where 

That-air  hawk  is,  well  as  you ! — 

You  jes'  bet  yer  life  she  do! — 
Eyes  a-glitterin'  like  glass, 
Waitin'  till  he  makes  a  pass ! 


Fee-wees'  singin',  to  express 

My  opinion,  's  second  class, 
Yit  you'll  hear  'em  more  er  less; 
Sapsucks  gittin'  down  to  biz, 
Weedin'  out  the  lonesomeness ; 
Mr.  Bluejay,  full  o'  sass, 

In  them  base-ball  clothes  o'  his, 

134 


KNEE-DEEP   IN   JUNE 

Sportin'  round  the  orchard  jes' 
Like  he  owned  the  premises ! 

Sun  out  in  the  fields  kin  sizz, 
But  flat  on  yer  back,  I  guess, 

In  the  shade's  where  glory  is! 
That's  jes'  what  I'd  like  to  do 
Stiddy  fer  a  year  er  two ! 

VI 

Plague!  ef  they  ain't  somepin'  in 
Work  'at  kindo'  goes  ag'in' 
My  convictions! — 'long  about 
Here  in  June  especially! — 
Under  some  old  apple-tree, 

Jes'  a-restin'  through  and  through, 
I  could  git  along  without 
Nothin'  else  at  all  to  do 
Only  jes'  a-wishin'  you 
Wuz  a-gittin'  there  like  me, 
And  June  was  eternity! 


'35 


KNEE-DKEP    IN    JUNE 


Lay  out  there  and  try  to  see 
Jes*  how  lazy  you  kin  be ! — 

Tumble  round  and  souse  yer  head 
In  the  clover-bloom,  er  pull 

Yer  straw  hat  acrost  yer  eyes 
And  peek  through  it  at  the  skies, 
Thinkin'  of  old  chums  'at's  dead, 

Maybe,  smilin'  back  at  you 
In  betwixt  the  beautiful 

Clouds  o'  gold  and  white  and  blue  !• 
Month  a  man  kin  railly  love — 
June,  you  know,  I'm  talkin'  of! 

VIII 

March  ain't  never  nothin'  new! — 
Aprile's  altogether  too 

Brash  fer  me !   and  May — I  jes' 

'Dominate  its  promises, — 
Little  hints  o'  sunshine  and 
Green  around  the  timber-land — 

136 


KNEE-DEEP    IN    JUNE 

A  few  blossoms,  and  a  few 
Chip-birds,  and  a  sprout  er  two, — 
Drap  asleep,  and  it  turns  in 
'Fore  daylight  and  snows  ag'in! — 
But  when  June  comes — Clear  my  th'oat 

With  wild  honey ! — Rench  my  hair 
In  the  dew!   and  hold  my  coat! 

Whoop  out  loud!   and  th'ow  my  bit!- 
June  wants  me,  and  I'm  to  spare! 
Spread  them  shadders  anywhere, 
I'll  git  down  and  waller  there, 
And  obleeged  to  you  at  that ! 


137 


WHEN  THE  HEARSE  COMES  BACK 

A  THING  'at's  'bout  as  tryin'  as  a  healthy  man  kin  meet 
Is  some  poor  feller's  funeral  a-joggin'  'long  the  street: 
The  slow  hearse  and  the  hosses — slow  enough,  to  say 

the  least, 

Fer  to  even  tax  the  patience  of  the  gentleman  deceased ! 
The  low  scrunch  of  the  gravel — and  the  slow  grind  of 

the  wheels, — 

The  slow,  slow  go  of  ev'ry  woe  'at  ev'rybody  feels! 
So  I  ruther  like  the  contrast  when  I  hear  the  whip-lash 

crack 
A  quickstep  fer  the  hosses, 

When  the 

Hearse 

Comes 

Back! 

Meet  it  goin'  to'rds  the  cimet'ry,  you'll  want  to  drap 
yer  eyes — 

But  ef  the  plumes  don't  fetch  you,  it'll  ketch  you  oth- 
erwise— 

138 


WHEN    THE    HEARSE    COMES    BACK 

You'll  haf  to  see  the  caskit,  though  you'd  ort  to  look 

away 

And  'conomize  and  save  yer  sighs  fer  any  .other  day! 
Yer  sympathizin'  won't  wake  up  the  sleeper  from  his 

rest — 
Yer  tears  won't  thaw  them  hands  o'  his  'at's  froze  acrost 

his  breast! 
And  this  is  why — when  airth  and  sky's  a'gittin  blurred 

and  black — 
I  like  the  flash  and  hurry 

When  the 

Hearse 

Comes 

Back! 

It's  not  'cause  I  don't  'predate  it  ain't  no  time  fer  jokes, 
Ner  'cause  I'   got  no  common  human  feelin'  fer  the 

folks  ;— 

I've  went  to  funerals  myse'f ,  and  tuk  on  some,  perhaps — 
Fer  my  heart's  'bout  as  mal'able  as  any  other  chap's, — 
I've  buried  father,  mother — But  I'll  haf  to  jes'  gityou 
To  "  excuse  me,"  as  the  feller  says. — The  p'int  I'm 

drivin'  to 

139 


WHEN   THE   HEARSE    COMES   BACK 

Is,  simply,  when  we're  plum  broke  down  and  all  knocked 

out  o'  whack, 

It  he'ps  to  shape  us  up,  like, 
When  the 

Hearse 

Comes 

Back! 

The  idy!  wadin'  round  here  over  shoe-mouth  deep  in 

woe, 
When  they's  a  graded  'pike  o'  joy  and  sunshine,  don't 

you  know! 
When  evening  strikes  the  pastur',  cows' 11  pull  out  fer 

the  bars, 
And  skittish-like  from  out  the  night'll  prance  the  happy 

stars. 
And  so  when  my  time  comes  to  die,  and  I've  got  ary 

friend 
'At  wants  expressed  my  last  request — I'll,  mebby,  rick- 

ommend 


140 


WHEN    THE    HEARSE    COMES    BACK 

To  drive  slow,  ef  they  haf  to,  goin'  'long  the  oufard 

track, 

But  I'll  smile  and  say,  "You  speed  'em 
When  the 

Hearse 

Comes 

Back!" 


141 


A  CANARY  AT  THE  FARM 

FOLKS  has  be'n  to  town,  and  Sahry 
Fetched  'er  home  a  pet  canary, — 
And  of  all  the  blame',  contrary, 

Aggervatin'  things  alive! 
I  love  music — that's  I  love  it 
When  it's  free — and  plenty  of  it; — 
But  I  kindo'  git  above  it, 

At  a  dollar-eighty-five ! 

Reason's  plain  as  I'm  a-sayin', — 
Jes'  the  idy,  now,  o'  layin' 
Out  yer  money,  and  a-payin' 

Fer  a  wilier-cage  and  bird, 
When  the  medder-larks  is  wingin' 
Round  you,  and  the  woods  is  ringin* 
With  the  beautifullest  singin' 

That  a  mortal  ever  heard ! 
142 


A    CANARY    AT    THE    FARM 

Sahry's  sot,  tho'. — So  I  tell  her 

He's  a  purty  little  feller, 

With  his  wings  o'  creamy-yeller, 

And  his  eyes  keen  as  a  cat  ; 
And  the  twitter  o'  the  critter 
'Pears  to  absolutely  glitter! 
Guess  I'll  haf  to  go  and  git  her 

A  high-priceter  cage  'n  that! 


A  LIZ-TOWN  HUMORIST 

SETTIN'  round  the  stove,  last  night, 
Down  at  Wess's  store,  was  me 
And  Mart  Strimples,  Tunk,  and  White, 
And  Doc  Bills,  and  two  er  three 
Fellers  o'  the  Mudsock  tribe 
No  use  tryin'  to  describe ! 
And  says  Doc,  he  says,  says  he, — 
"Talkin'  'bout  good  things  to  eat, 
Ripe  mushmillon's  hard  to  beat !  " 

I  chawed  on.     And  Mart  he  'lowed 

Wortermillon  beat  the  mush. — 
"  Red,"  he  says,  "  and  juicy— Hush!— 

I'll  jes'  leave  it  to  the  crowd!  " 

Then  a  Mudsock  chap,  says  he, — 
"  Punkin's  good  enough  fer  me — 

Punkin  pies,  I  mean,"  he  says, — 
"  Them  beats  millons!—  What  say,  Wess?" 
144 


A    LIZ-TOWN    HUMORIST 

I  chawed  on.     And  Wess  says, — "  Well, 

You  jes'  fetch  that  wife  of  mine 

All  yer  wortermillon-rzVze, — 

And  she'll  bile  it  down  a  spell — 

In  with  sorghum,  I  suppose, 

And  what  else,  Lord  only  knows! — 

But  I'm  here  to  tell  all  hands 

Them  p'serves  meets  my  demands!  " 

I  chawed  on.     And  White  he  says, — 
"  Well,  I'll  jes'  stand  in  with  Wess — 

I'm  no  hog!  "     And  Tunk  says, — "I 

Guess  I'll  pastur'  out  on  pie 

With  the  Mudsock  boys !  "  says  he ; 
"  Now  what's  yourn?  "  he  says  to  me: 

I  chawed  on — fer — quite  a  spell — 

Then  I  speaks  up,  slow  and  dry, — 
"Jes'  tobacker!  "  I-says-I. — 

And  you'd  ort  o'  heerd  'em  yell  I 


H5 


KINGRY'S  MILL 

ON  old  Brandywine — about 
Where  White's  Lots  is  now  laid  out, 
And  the  old  crick  narries  down 
To  the  ditch  that  splits  the  town,— 
Kingry's  Mill  stood.     Hardly  see 
Where  the  old  dam  ust  to  be ; 
Shallor,  long,  dry  trought  o'  grass 
Where  the  old  race  ust  to  pass ! 

That's  be'n  forty  years  ago — 

Forty  years  o'  frost  and  snow — 

Forty  years  o'  shade  and  shine 

Sence  them  boyhood-days  o'  mine ! — 

All  the  old  landmarks  o'  town 

Changed  about,  er  rotted  down ! 

Where's  the  Tanyard  ?     Where's  the  Still  ? 

Tell  me  where's  old  Kingry's  Mill? 

Don't  seem  furder  back,  to  me, 
I'll  be  dogg'd !   than  yisterd'y, 
Since  us  fellers,  in  bare  feet 
And  straw  hats,  went  through  the  wheat, 
146 


KINGRY  S    MILL 

Cuttin'  'crost  the  shortest  shoot 
Fer  that-air  old  ellum  root 
Jest  above  the  mill-dam — where 
The  blame'  cars  now  crosses  there! 

Through  the  willers  down  the  crick 
We  could  see  the  old  mill  stick 
Its  red  gable  up,  as  if 
It  jest  knowed  we'd  stol'd  the  skiff! 
See  the  winders  in  the  sun 
Blink  like  they  wuz  wonderun' 
What  the  miller  ort  to  do 
With  sich  boys  as  me  and  you ! 

But  old  Kingry! — who  could  fear 
That  old  chap,  with  all  his  cheer? — 
Leanin'  at  the  window-sill, 
Er  the  half-door  o'  the  mill, 
Swoppin'  lies,  and  pokin'  fun, 
'N  jigglin'  like  his  hoppers  done — 
Laughin'  grists  o'  gold  and  red 
Right  out  o'  the  wagon-bed! 

147 


KINGRY'S  MILL 

What  did  he  keer  where  we  went?— 
"Jest  keep  out  o'  devilment, 
And  don't  fool  around  the  belts, 
Bolts,  ner  burrs,  ner  nothin'  else 
'Bout  the  blame  machinery, 
And  that's  all  I  ast!  "  says-ee. 
Then  we'd  climb  the  stairs,  and  play 
In  the  bran-bins  half  the  day ! 

Rickollect  the  dusty  wall, 
And  the  spider-webs,  and  all! 
Rickollect  the  trimblin'  spout 
Where  the  meal  come  josslin'  out — 
Stand  and  comb  yer  fingers  through 
The  fool-truck  an  hour  er  two — 
Felt  so  sorto'  warm-like  and 
Soothin'  to  a  feller's  hand! 

Climb,  high  up  above  the  stream, 
And  "coon"  out  the  wobbly  beam 
And  peek  down  from  out  the  lof 
Where  the  weather-boards  was  off — 

148 


KIXGRY  S    MILL 

Gee-mun-nee!  w'y,  it  takes  grit 
Even  jest  to  think  of  it ! — 
Lookin'  'way  down  there  below 
On  the  worter  roarin'  so ! 

Rickollect  the  flume,  and  wheel, 
And  the  worter  slosh  and  reel 
And  jest  ravel  out  in  froth 
Flossier'n  satin  cloth! 
Rickollect  them  paddles  jest 
Knock  the  bubbles  galley-west, 
And  plunge  under,  and  come  up, 
Drippin'  like  a  worter-pup! 

And,  to  see  them  old  things  gone 
That  I  onc't  was  bettin'  on, 
In  rale  p'int  o'  fact,  I  feel 
Kindo'  like  that  worter- wheel, — 
Sorto'  drippy-like  and  wet 
Round  the  eyes — but  paddlin'  yet, 
And,  in  mem'ry,  loafin'  still 
Down  around  old  Kingry's  Mill! 

149 


JONEY 

HAD  a  hare-lip — Joney  had : 

Spiled  his  looks,  and  Joney  knowed  it: 
Fellers  tried  to  bore  him,  bad — 
But  ef  ever  he  got  mad, 

He  kep'  still  and  never  showed  it. 
'Druther  have  his  mouth  all  pouted 

And  split  up,  and  like  it  wuz, 
Than  the  ones  'at  laughed  about  it. — 

Purty  is  as  purty  does  1 

Had  to  listen  ruther  clos't 

'Fore  you  knowed  what  he  wuz  givin' 
You ;   and  yet,  without  no  boast, 
Joney  he  wuz  jest  the  most 

Entertainin'  talker  livin' ! 
Take  the  Scriptur's  and  run  through  'em, 

Might  say,  like  a'  auctioneer, 
And  'ud  argy  and  review  'em 

'At  wuz  beautiful  to  hear ! 
150 


JONEY 

Hare-lip  and  inpediment, 

Both  wuz  bad,  and  both  ag'in'  him — 
But  the  old  folks  where  he  went, 
'Peared  like,  knowin'  his  intent, 

'Scused  his  mouth  fer  what  wuz  in  him. 
And  the  childern  all  loved  Joney — 

And  he  loved  'em  back,  you  bet! — 
Putt  their  arms  around  him on'y 

None  had  ever  kissed  him  yet ! 

In  young  company,  someway, 

Boys  'ud  grin  at  one  another 
On  the  sly;  and  girls  'ud  lay 
Low,  with  nothin'  much  to  say, 

Er  leave  Joney  with  their  mother. 
Many  and  many  a  time  he's  fetched  'em 

Candy  by  the  paper  sack, 
And  turned  right  around  and  ketched  'em 

Makin  mouths  behind  his  back! 


JONEY 

S'prised,  sometimes,  the  slurs  he  took. — 

Chap  said  onc't  his  mouth  looked  sorter 
Like  a  fish's  mouth  'ud  look 
When  he'd  be'n  jerked  off  the  hook 

And  plunked  back  into  the  worter.— 
Same  durn  feller — it's  su'prisin', 

But  it's  facts — 'at  stood  and  cherred 
From  the  bank  that  big  babtizin' 

'Pike-bridge  accident  occurred! — 

Cherred  for  Joney  while  he  give 

Life  to  little  childern  drowndin* ! 
Which  wuz  fittenest  to  live — 
Him  'at  cherred,  er  him  'at  div* 

And  saved  thirteen  lives  ?  .  .   .  They  found  one 
Body,  three  days  later,  floated 

Down  the  by-o,  eight  mile'  south, 
All  so  colored-up  and  bloated — 

On'y  knowed  him  by  his  mouth! 


JONKY 

Had  a  hare-lip — Joney  had — 

Folks  'at  filed  apast  all  knowed  it. — 
Them  'at  ust  to  smile  looked  sad, 
But  ef  he  thought  good  er  bad, 

He  kep'  still  and  never  showed  it. 
'Druther  have  that  mouth,  all  pouted 

And  split  up,  and  like  it  wuz, 
Than  the  ones  'at  laughed  about  it.— 

Purty  is  as  purty  does ! 


i53 


LIKE  HIS  MOTHER  USED  TO  MAKE 
"Uncle  Jake's  Place,"  St.  Jo,  Mo.,  1874. 

"I  WAS  born  in  Indiany,"  says  a  stranger,  lank  and 

slim, 

As  us  fellers  in  the  restarunt  was  kindo'  guyin'  him, 
And  Uncle  Jake  was  slidin'  him  another  punkin  pie 
And  a'  extry  cup  o'  coffee,  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye, 
"I  was  born  in  Indiany — more'n  forty  year'  ago — 
And  I  hain't  be'n  back  in  twenty — and  I'm  workin' 

back'ards  slow; 

But  I've  et  in  ever'  restarunt  'twixt  here  and  Santy  Foe, 
And  I  want  to  state  this  coffee  tastes  like  gittin'  home, 

to  me! 

"Pour  us  out  another,  Daddy,"  says  the  feller,  warmin' 

up, 

A-speakin'  'crost  a  saucerful,  as  Uncle  tuk  his  cup, — 
"When  I  seed  yer  sign  out  yander,"  he  went  on,  to 

Uncle  Jake,— 
"  'Come  in  and  git  some  coffee  like  yer  mother  used  to 

make' — 

154 


LIKE    HIS    MOTHER    USED    TO    MAKE 

I  thought  of  my  old  mother,  and  the  Posey  County 

farm, 

And  me  a  little  kid  ag'in,  a-hangin'  in  her  arm, 
As  she  set  the  pot  a-bilin',  broke  the  eggs  and  poured 

'em  in" — 
And  the  feller  kindo'  halted,  with  a  trimble  in  his  chin : 

And  Uncle  Jake  he  fetched  the  feller's  coffee  back,  and 

stood 

As  solemn,  fer  a  minute,  as  a'  undertaker  would; 
Then  he  sorto'  turned  and  tiptoed  to'rds  the  kitchen 

door — and  nex', 
Here  comes  his  old  wife  out  with  him,  a-rubbin'  of  her 

specs — 
And  she  rushes  fer  the  stranger,  and  she  hollers  out, 

"It's  him!— 
Thank  God  we've  met  him  comin' ! — Don't  you  know 

yer  mother,  Jim?" 
And  the  feller,  as  he  grabbed  her,  says, — "You  bet  I 

hain't  forgot — 
But,"  wipin'  of  his  eyes,  says  he,  "yer  coffee's  mighty 

hot!" 

155 


THE  TRAIN-MISSER 

At  Union  Station 

'L<L  where  in  the  world  my  eyes  has  bin — 
Ef  I  hain't  missed  that  train  ag'in ! 
Chuff !  and  whistle !  and  toot !  and  ring ! 
But  blast  and  blister  the  dasted  train! — 
How  it  does  it  I  can't  explain ! 
Git  here  thirty-five  minutes  before 
The  durn  thing's  due! — and,  drat  the  thing! 
It'll  manage  to  git  past — shore! 

The  more  I  travel  around,  the  more 
I  got  no  sense ! — To  stand  right  here 
And  let  it  beat  me !      'LI  ding  my  melts ! 
I  got  no  gumption,  ner  nothin'  else ! 
Ticket  Agent's  a  dad-burned  bore ! — 
Sell  you  a  ticket's  all  they  keer! — 
Ticket  Agents  ort  to  all  be 
156 


THE    TRAIN-MISSER 

Prosecuted — and  that's  jes  what! — 
How'd  I  know  which  train's  fer  me? 
And  how'd  I  know  which  train  was  not  ? — 
Goern  and  comin'  and  gone  astray, 
And  backin'  and  switchin'  ever'-which-way ! 

Ef  I  could  jes  sneak  round  behind 
Myse'f,  where  I  could  git  full  swing, 
I'd  lift  my  coat,  and  kick,  by  jing! 
Till  I  jes  got  jerked  up  and  fined! — 
Fer  here  I  stood,  as  a  durn  fool's  apt 
To,  and  let  that  train  jes  chuff  and  choo 
Right  apast  me — and  mouth  jes  gapped 
Like  a  blamed  old  sandwitch  warped  in  two ! 


'57 


GRANNY 

GRANNY'S  come  to  our  house, 

And  ho !   my  lawzy-daisy ! 
All  the  chilclern  round  the  place 

Is  ist  a-runnin'  crazy! 
Fetched  a  cake  fer  little  Jake, 

And  fetched  a  pie  fer  Nanny, 
And  fetched  a  pear  fer  all  the  pack 

That  runs  to  kiss  their  Granny ! 

Lucy  Ellen's  in  her  lap, 

And  Wade  and  Silas  Walker 
Both's  a  ridin'  on  her  foot, 

And  'Polios  on  the  rocker; 
And  Marthy's  twins,  from  Aunt  Marinn's, 

And  little  Orphant  Annie, 
All's  a-eatin'  gingerbread 

And  giggle-un  at  Granny! 

Tells  us  all  the  fairy  tales 

Ever  thought  er  wundered — 
And  'bundance  o'  other  stories — 

Bet  she  knows  a  hunderd ! — 
158 


GRANNY 

Bob's  the  one  fer  "  Whittington," 
And  ' '  Golden  Locks ' '  fer  Fanny  I 

Hear  'em  laugh  and  clap  their  hands, 
Listenin'  at  Granny! 

"Jack  the  Giant-Killer"  's  good; 

And  "Bean-Stalk"  's  another! — 
So's  the  one  of  "CinderelP  " 

And  her  old  godmother; — 
That-un's  best  of  all  the  rest — 

Bestest  one  of  any, — 
Where  the  mices  scampers  home 

Like  we  runs  to  Granny! 

Granny's  come  to  our  house, 

Ho !   my  lawzy-daisy ! 
All  the  childern  round  the  place 

Is  ist  a  runnin'  crazy ! 
Fetched  a  cake  fer  little  Jake, 

And  fetched  a  pie  fer  Nanny, 
And  fetched  a  pear  fer  all  the  pack 

That  runs  to  kiss  their  Granny ! 

159 


OLD  OCTOBER 

OLD  October's  purt'  nigh  gone, 
And  the  frosts  is  comin'  on 
Little  heavier  every  day — 
Like  our  hearts  is  thataway ! 
Leaves  is  changin'  overhead 
Back  from  green  to  gray  and  red, 
Brown  and  yeller,  with  their  stems 
Loosenin'  on  the  oaks  and  e'ms ; 
And  the  balance  of  the  trees 
Gittin'  balder  every  breeze — 
Like  the  heads  we're  scratchin'  on! 
Old  October's  purt'  nigh  gone. 

I  love  Old  October  so, 
I  can't  bear  to  see  her  go—- 
Seems to  me  like  losin'  some 
Old-home  relative  er  chum — 
'Pears  like  sorto'  settin'  by 
Some  old  friend  'at  sigh  by  sigh 
160 


OLD    OCTOBER 

Was  a-passin'  out  o'  sight 
Into  everlastin'  night! 
Hickernuts  a  feller  hears 
Rattlin'  down  is  more  like  tears 
Drappin'  on  the  leaves  below — 
I  love  Old  October  so ! 

Can't  tell  what  it  is  about 
Old  October  knocks  me  out! — 
I  sleep  well  enough  at  night — 
And  the  blamedest  appetite 
Ever  mortal  man  possessed, — 
Last  thing  et,  it  tastes  the  best! — 
Warnuts,  butternuts,  pawpaws, 
'lies  and  limbers  up  my  jaws 
Fer  raal  service,  sich  as  new 
Pork,  spareribs,  and  sausage,  too.- 
Yit,  fer  all,  they's  somepin'  'bout 
Old  October  knocks  me  out! 


161 


JIM 

HE  was  jes  a  plain,  ever'-day,  all-round  kind  of  a  jour., 

Consumpted-lookin' — but  la! 
The  jokeiest,  wittiest,  story-tellin' ,  song-singin' ,  laugh- 

in'est,  jolliest 
Feller  you  ever  saw ! 
Worked  at  jes  coarse  work,  but  you  kin  bet  he  was  fine 

enough  in  his  talk, 
And  his  feelin's  too! 
Lordy !   ef  he  was  on'y  back  on  his  bench  ag'in  to-day, 

a-carryin'  on 
Like  he  ust  to  do ! 

Any  shopmate'll  tell  you  there  never  was,  on  top  o'  dirt, 

A  better  feller'n  Jim ! 
You  want  a  favor,  and  couldn't  git  it  anywheres  else — 

You  could  git  it  o'  him ! 
Most  free-heartedest  man  thataway  in  the  world,  I  guess ! 

Give  up  ever'  nickel  he's  worth — 

And,  ef  you'd  a-wanted  it,  and  named  it  to  him,  and  it 
was  his, 

He'd  a-give  you  the  earth! 
162 


JIM 

Allus  a  reachin'  out,  Jim  was,  and  a-he'ppin'  some 

Pore  feller  onto  his  feet — 
He'd  a-never  a-keered  how  hungry  he  was  hisse'f, 

So's  the  feller  got  somepin*  to  eat! 
Didn't  make  no  diff  er'nce  at  all  to  him  how  he  was  dressed . 

He  ust  to  say  to  me, — 

'•You  togg  out  a  tramp  purty  comfortable  in  winter- 
time, a-huntin'  a  job, 

And  he'll  git  along!  "  says  he. 

Jim  didn't  have,  ner  never  could  git  ahead,  so  overly  much 

O'  this  world's  goods  at  a  time. — 

'Fore  now  I've  saw  him,  more'n  onc't,  lend  a  dollar,  and 
haf  to,  more'n  likely, 

Turn  round  and  borry  a  dime ! 

Mebby  laugh  and  joke  about  it  hisse'f  fer  a  while — then 
jerk  his  coat, 

And  kindo'  square  his  chin, 
Tie  on  his  apern,  and  squat  hisse'f  on  his  old  shoe-bench. 

And  go  to  peggin'  ag'in! 


163 


JIM 

Patientest  feller,  too,  I  reckon,  'at  ever  jes  natchurly 

Coughed  hisse'f  to  death! 

Long  enough  after  his  voice  was  lost  he'd  laugh  in  a 
whisper  and  say 

He  could  git  ever' thing  but  his  breath — 
"Tou  fellers,"  he'd  sorto'  twinkle  his  eyes  and  say, 

"Is  a-pilin'  onto  me 

A  mighty  big  debt  fer  that-air  little  weak-chested  ghost 
o'  mine  to  pack 

Through  all  Eternity!  " 

Now  there  was  a  man  'at  jes  'peared-like,  to  me, 

'At  ortn't  a-never  a-died ! 
"  But  death  hain't  a-shovvin'  no  favors,"  the  old  boss 

said — 

"On'y  to  Jim!"  and  cried: 
And  Wigger,  who  puts  up  the  best  sewed-work  in  the 

shop — 

Er  the  whole  blame  neighborhood, — 
He  says,  "  When  God  made  Jim,  I  bet  you  He  didn't  do 

anything  else  that  day 
But  jes  set  around  and  feel  good!  " 

164 


TO  ROBERT  BURNS 

SWEET  Singer  that  I  loe  the  maist 

O'  ony,  sin'  wi'  eager  haste 

I  smacket  bairn-lips  ower  the  taste 

O'  hinnied  sang, 
I  hail  thee,  though  a  blessed  ghaist 

In  Heaven  lang! 

For,  weel  I  ken,  nae  cantie  phrase, 
Nor  courtly  airs,  nor  lairdly  ways, 
Could  gar  me  freer  blame,  or  praise, 

Or  proffer  hand, 
Where  "Rantin'  Robbie"  and  his  lays 

Thegither  stand. 

And  sae  these  hamely  lines  I  send, 
Wi'  jinglin'  words  at  ilka  end, 
In  echo  o'  the  sangs  that  wend 

Frae  thee  to  me 
Like  simmer-brooks,  wi'  mony  a  bend 

O'  wimplin'  glee. 


TO    ROBERT    BURNS 

In  fancy,  as,  wi'  dewy  een, 

I  part  the  clouds  aboon  the  scene 

Where  thou  wast  born,  and  peer  atween, 

I  see  nae  spot 
In  a'  the  Hielands  half  sae  green 

And  unforgot! 

I  see  nae  storied  castle-hall, 

Wi'  banners  flauntin'  ower  the  wall 

And  serf  and  page  in  ready  call, 

Sae  grand  to  me 
As  ane  puir  cotter's  hut,  wi'  all 

Its  poverty. 

There  where  the  simple  daisy  grew 
Sae  bonnie  sweet,  and  modest,  too, 
Thy  liltin'  filled  its  wee  head  fu' 

O'  sic  a  grace, 
It  aye  is  weepin'  tears  o'  dew 

Wi'  droopit  face. 

Frae  where  the  heather  bluebells  fling 
Their  sangs  o'  fragrance  to  the  Spring, 
To  where  the  lavrock  soars  to  sing, 
1 66 


TO  ROBERT  BURNS 

Still  lives  thy  strain, 

For  a*  the  birds  are  twittering 

Sangs  like  thine  ain. 

And  aye,  by  light  o'  sun  or  moon, 
By  banks  o'  Ayr,  or  Bonnie  Doon, 
The  waters  lilt  nae  tender  tune 

But  sweeter  seems 
Because  they  poured  their  limpid  rune 

Through  a'  thy  dreams. 

Wi'  brimmin'  lip,  and  laughin'  ee, 
Thou  shookest  even  Grief  wi'  glee, 
Yet  had  nae  niggart  sympathy 

Where  Sorrow  bowed, 
But  gavest  a'  thy  tears  as  free 

As  a'  thy  gowd. 

And  sae  it  is  we  loe  thy  name 
To  see  bleeze  up  wi'  sic  a  flame, 
That  a'  pretentious  stars  o'  fame 

Maun  blink  asklent, 
To  see  how  simple  worth  may  shame 

Their  brightest  glent. 
167 


A  NEW  YEAR'S  TIME  AT  WILLARDS'S 


THE    HIRED    MAN    TALKS 

THERE'S  old  'man  Willards ;   an'  his  wife ; 
An'  Marg'et — S'repty's  sister; — an' 
There's  me — an'  I'm  the  hired  man ; 

An'  Tomps  McClure,  you  bet  yer  life! 

Well,  now,  old  Willards  hain't  so  bad, 

Considerin'  the  chance  he's  had. 

Of  course,  he's  rich,  an'  sleeps  an'  eats 

Whenever  he's  a  mind  to:     Takes 
An'  leans  back  in  the  Amen-seats 

An*  thanks  the  Lord  fer  all  he  makes.— 
That's  purty  much  all  folks  has  got 
Ag'inst  the  old  man,  like  as  not! 
1 68 


A    NEW    YEAR  S    TIME    AT    WILLARDS  S 

But  there's  his  woman — jes  the  turn 
Of  them-air  two  wild  girls  o'  hern— 

Marg'et  an'  S'repty — allus  in 
Fer  any  cuttin'-up  concern — 

Church  festibals,  and  foolishin' 
Round  Christmas-trees,  an'  New  Year's  sprees- 
Set  up  to  watch  the  Old  Year  go 
An'  New  Year  come — sich  things  as  these ; 

An'  turkey-dinners,  don't  you  know! 
S'repty's  younger,  an'  more  gay, 

An'  purtier,  an'  finer  dressed 
Than  Marg'et  is — but,  lawzy-day! 

She  hain't  the  independentest ! — 
'Take  care!"  old  Willards  used  to  say, 
'Take  care ! — Let  Marg'et  have  her  way, 
An'  S'repty,  you  go  off  an'  play 
On  your  melodeum!" — But,  best 

Of  all,  comes  Tomps !     An*  I'll  be  bound, 
Ef  he  hain't  jes  the  beatin'est 

Young  chap  in  all  the  country  round  I 


169 


A  NEW  YEAR'S  TIME  AT  WILLARDS'S 

Ef  you  knowed  Tomps  you'd  like  him,  shore! 
They  hain't  no  man  on  top  o'  ground 
Walks  into  my  affections  more!  — 
An'  all  the  Settlement'll  say 
That  Tomps  was  liked  jes  thataway 
By  ever'body,  till  he  tuk 

A  shine  to  S'repty  Willards. — Then 
You'd  ort'o  see  the  old  man  buck 
An'  h'ist  hisse'f,  an'  paw  the  dirt, 

An'  hint  that  "common  workin'-men 
That  didn't  want  their  feelin's  hurt 

'Ud  better  hunt  fer  '  comp'ny '  where 
The  folks  was  pore  an'  didn't  care!  " — 
The  pine-blank  facts  is, — the  old  man. 
Last  Christmas  was  a  year  ago, 

Found  out  some  presents  Tomps  had  got 
Fer  S'repty,  an'  hit  made  him  hot — 
Set  down  an'  tuk  his  pen  in  hand 
An'  writ  to  Tomps  an'  told  him  so 
On  legal  cap,  in  white  an'  black, 
An'  give  him  jes  to  understand 


170 


A  NEW  YEAR'S  TIME  AT  WILLARDS'S 

"No  Christmas-gifts  o'  'lily-white* 

An'  bear's- ile  could  fix  matters  right," 

An'  wropped  'em  up  an'  sent  'em  back! 
Well,  S'repty  cried  an'  snuffled  round 

Consid'able.     But  Marg'et  she 
Toed  out  another  sock,  an'  wound 

Her  knittin'  up,  an'  drawed  the  tea, 
An'  then  set  on  the  supper-things, 
An'  went  up  in  the  loft  an'  dressed — 
An'  through  it  all  you'd  never  guessed 

What  she  was  up  to !     An'  she  brings 
Her  best  hat  with  her  an'  her  shawl, 
An'  gloves,  an'  redicule,  an'  all, 
An'  injirubbers,  an'  comes  down 
An'  tells  'em  she's  a-goin'  to  town 

To  he'p  the  Christmas  goin's-on 
Her  Church  got  up.     An'  go  she  does — 
The  best  hosswoman  ever  was ! 
'An'  what'll  WE  do  while  you're  gone?" 
The  old  man  says,  a-tryin'  to  be 
Agreeable.     "Oh!  you?"  says  she, — 


A  NEW  YEAR'S  TIME  AT  WILLARDS'S 

*-You  kin  jaw  S'repty,  like  you  did, 
An'  slander  Tomps!  "     An'  off  she  rid! 

Now,  this  is  all  T 'm  goin'  to  tell 
Of  this-here  story — that  is,  I 

Have  done  my  very  level  best 

As  fur  as  this,  an'  here  I  "dwell," 

As  auctioneers  says,  winkin'  sly: 

Hit's  old  man  Willards  tells  the  rest. 


THE  OLD  MAN  TALKS 

Adzackly  jes  one  year  ago, 

This  New  Year's  day,  Tomps  comes  to  m< 
In  my  own  house,  an'  whilse  the  folks 
Was  gittin'  dinner, — an'  he  pokes 
His  nose  right  in,  an'  says,  says  he: 
"I  got  yer  note — an'  read  it  slow! 

You  don't  like  me,  ner  I  don't  you" 
He  says, — "we're  even  there,  you  know! 
But  you've  said,  furder,  that  no  gal 
Of  yourn  kin  marry  me,  er  shall, 
172 


A  NEW  YEAR'S  TIME  AT  WILLARDS'S 

An'  I'd  best  shet  off  comin' ',  too!  " 
An'  then  he  says, — "Well,  them's  YOUR  views 
But,  havin'  talked  with  S'repty,  -we 
Have  both  agreed  to  disagree 
With  your  peculiar  notions — some  ; 
An',  that's  the  reason,  I  refuse 

To  quit  a-comin'  here,  but  come — 
Not  fer  to  threat,  ner  raise  no  skeer 
An'  spile  yer  turkey-dinner  here, — 
But  jes  fer  S'repty' 's  sake,  to  sheer 
Yer  New  Year's.  Shall  I  take  a  cheer  ? " 

Well,  blame-don!   ef  I  ever  see 

Sich  impidence!     I  couldn't  say 
Not  nary  word !     But  Mother  she 

Sot  out  a  cheer  fer  Tomps,  an'  they 
Shuk  hands  an'  turnt  their  back  on  me. 
Then  I  riz — mad  as  mad  could  be! — 

But  Marg'et  says, — "Now,  Pap!  you  set 

Right  where  you're  settin' ! — Don't  you  fret! 
An',  Tomps — -you  warm  yer  feet!  "  says  she, 


173 


A  NEW  YEAR'S  TIME  AT  WILLARDS'S 

"An  throw  yer  mitts  an'  comfert  on 
The  bed  there!     Where  is  S'repty  gone?- 
The  cabbage  is  a-scortchin' !     Ma, 
Stop  cryin'  there  an'  stir  the  slaw!  " 

Well! — what  was  Mother  cryin1  fer? — 
I  half  riz  up— but  Marg'et's  chin 
Hit  squared — an'  I  set  down  ag'in— - 

I  allus  was  afeard  o'  her, 

I  was,  by  jucks!     So  there  I  set, 

Betwixt  a  sinkin'-chill  an'  sweat, 

An'  scuffled  with  my  wrath,  an'  shet 

My  teeth  to  mighty  tight,  you  bet  I 
An'  yit,  fer  all  that  I  could  do, 

I  eeched  to  jes  git  up  an'  whet 
The  carvin'-knife  a  rasp  er  two 
On  Tomps's  ribs — an'  so  would  you ! — 

Fer  he  had  riz  an'  faced  around. 

An'  stood  there,  smilin',  as  they  brung 

The  turkey  in,  all  stuffed  an'  browned — 
Too  sweet  fer  nose  er  tooth  er  tongue  I 


174 


A  NEW  YEAR'S  TIME  AT  WILLARDS'S 

With  sniffs  o'  sage,  an'  p'r'aps  a  dash 

Of  old  burnt  brandy,  steamin'-hot, 
Mixed  kindo'  in  with  apple-mash 

An'  mince-meat,  an'  the  Lord  knows  what! 
Nobody  was  a-talkin'  then, 

To  'filiate  any  awk'ardness — 

No  noise  o'  any  kind  but  jes 
The  rattle  o'  the  dishes  when 
They'd  fetch  'em  in  an'  set  'em  down, 
An'  fix  an'  change  'em  round  an'  round, 

Like  women  does — till  Mother  says, — 
" Vittels  is  ready;   Abner,  call 

Down  S'repty — she's  up-stairs,  I  guess." — 
And  Marg'et  she  says,  "  Ef  you  bawl 
Like  that,  she'll  not  come  down  at  all ! 
Besides,  we  needn't  wait  till  she 
Gits  down !     Here,  Tomps,  set  down  by  me, 

An' Pap:  say  grace !"  .   .   .  Well,  there  I  was  !- 
What  could  I  do !     I  drapped  my  head 
Behind  my  fists  an'  groaned,  an'  said: — 

"  Indulgent  Parent !   in  Thy  cause 
We  bow  the  head  an'  bend  the  knee, 

'75 


A  NEW  YEAR'S  TIME  AT  WILLARDS'S 

An'  break  the  bread,  an'  pour  the  wine, 
Feelin'  " — (The  stair-door  suddently 
Went  bang!   an'  S'repty  flounced  by  me) — 
Feelin',"  I  says,  "  this  feast  is  Thine— 

This  New  Year's  feast" — an'  rap-rap-rap f 
Went  Marg'et's  case-knife  on  her  plate — 
An'  next,  I  heerd  a  sasser  drap, — 

Then  I  looked  up,  an',  strange  to  state, 
There  S'repty  set  in  Tomps's  lap — 

An'  huggin'  him,  as  shore  as  fate! 
An'  Mother  kissin'  him  k-slap ! — 
An'  Marg'et — she  chips  in  to  drap 

The  ruther  peert  remark  to  me  :— 
"That  'grace'  o'  yourn,"  she  says,  "won't  'gee' — 
This  hain't  no  '•New  Tear's  feast,'  "  says  she, — 
"This  is  a'  INFAIR-Dinner,  Pap!" 

An'  so  it  was ! — be'n  married  fer 

Purt'  nigh  a  week ! — 'Twas  Marg'et  planned 
The  whole  thing  fer  'em,  through  an' 

through. 
I'm  rickonciled;  an',  understand, 

176 


A  NEW  YEAR'S  TIME  AT  WILLARDS'S 

I  take  things  jes  as  they  occur, — 

Ef  Marg'et  liked  Tomps,  Tomps  'ud  do!- 
But"  I-says-I,  a-holt  his  hand, — 
"I'm  glad  you  didn't  marry  HER — 
'Cause  Marg'etfs  my  guardeen — yes-5z>/ — 
An'  S'repty's  good  enough  fer  you  !  " 


177 


THE  TOWN  KARNTEEL 

THE  town  Karnteel! — It's  who'll  reveal 

Its  praises  jushtifiable? 
For  who  can  sing  av  anything 

So  lovely  and  reliable? 
Whin  Summer,  Spring,  or  Winter  lies 

From  Malin's  Head  to  Tipperary, 
There's  no  such  town  for  interprise 

Bechuxt  Youghal  and  Londonderry ! 

There's  not  its  likes  in  Ireland — 

For  twic't  the  week,  be-gorries! 
They're  playing  jigs  upon  the  band, 
Andjoomping  there  in  sacks — and — and — 

And  racing,  wid  wheelborries! 

Karnteel — it's  there,  like  any  fair, 
The  purty  gurrls  is  plinty,  sure  !— 

And,  man-alive !   at  forty-five 
The  legs  av  me  air  twinty,  sure ! 
178 


THE    TOWN    KARNTKKL 

I  lave  me  cares,  and  hoein',  too, 

Behint  me,  as  is  sinsible, 
And  it's  Karnteel  I'm  goin'  to, 

To  cilebrate  in  principle ! 

For  there's  the  town  av  all  the  land! 

And  twic't  the  week,  be-gorrics! 
They' re  playing  jigs  upon  the  band, 
Andjoomping  there  in  sacks — and — and— 

And  racing,  wid  wheelborries! 

And  whilst  I  feel  for  owld  Karnteel 

That  I've  no  phrases  glorious, 
It  stands  above  the  need  av  love 

That  boasts  in  voice  uproarious! — 
Lave  that  for  Cork,  and  Dublin,  too, 

And  Armagh  and  Killarney,  thin, — 
And  Karnteel  won't  be  troublin'  you 

Wid  any  jilous  blarney,  thin! 

For  there's  the  town  av  all  the  land 
Where  tzvic't  the  week,  be-gorries! 
They're  playing  jigs  upon  the  band, 
Andjoomping  there  in  sacks — and — and — 
And  racing,  wid  wheelborries! 
179 


REGARDIN'  TERRY  HUT 

SENCE  I  tuk  holt  o'  Gibbses'  Churn 

And  be'n  a-handlin'  the  concern, 

I've  travelled  round  the  grand  old  State 

Of  Indiany,  lots,  o'  late! — 

I've  canvassed  Crawferdsville  and  sweat 

Around  the  town  o'  Layfayette ; 

I've  saw  a  many  a  County-seat 

I  ust  to  think  was  hard  to  beat: 

At  constant  dreenage  and  expense 

I've  worked  Greencastle  and  Vincennes — 

Drapped  out  o'  Putnam  into  Clay, 

Owen,  and  on  down  thataway 

Plum  into  Knox,  on  the  back-track 

Fer  home  ag'in — and  glad  I'm  back!— • 

I've  saw  these  towns,  as  I  say — but 

They's  none  'at  beats  old  Terry  Hut! 

It's  more'n  likely  you'll  insist 
I  claim  this  'cause  I'm  prejudist, 
Bein'  born'd  here  in  ole  Vygo 
In  sight  o'  Terry  Hut;— but  no, 
1 80 


REGARDIX'    TERRY    HUT 

Yer  clean  dead  wrong! — and  I  maintain 

They's  nary  drap  in  ary  vein 

O'  mine  but  what's  as  free  as  air 

To  jest  take  issue  with  you  there ! — 

'Cause,  boy  and  man,  fer  forty  year, 

I've  argied  ag'inst  livin'  here, 

And  jawed  around  and  traded  lies 

About  our  lack  o'  enterprise, 

And  tuk  and  turned  in  and  agreed 

All  other  towns  was  in  the  lead, 

When — drat  my  melts ! — they  couldn't  cut 

No  shine  a-tall  with  Terry  Hut ! 

Take,  even,  statesmanship,  and  wit, 
And  ginerel  git-up-and-git, 
Old  Terry  Hut  is  sound  clean  through ! — 
Turn  old  Dick  Thompson  loose,  er  Dan 
Fbrehees — and  where 's  they  any  man 
Kin  even  hold  a  candle  to 
Their  eloquence? — And  where's  as  clean 
A  fi-nan-seer  as  Rile'  McKeen — 
Er  puorer,  in  his  daily  walk, 
In  railroad  er  in  racin'  stock! 
181 


REGARDIN"  TERRY  HUT 

And  there's  'Gene  Debs — a  man  'at  stands 

And  jest  holds  out  in  his  two  hands 

As  warm  a  heart  as  ever  beat 

Betwixt  here  and  the  Jedgement  Seat! — 

All  these  is  reasons  why  I  putt 

Sich  bulk  o'  faith  in  Terry  Hut. 

So  I've  come  back,  with  eyes  'at  sees 
My  faults,  at  last, — to  make  my  peace 
With  this  old  place,  and  truthful'  swear — 
Like  Gineral  Tom  Nelson  does, — 

"They  hain't  no  city  anywhere 
On  God's  green  earth  lays  over  us!  " 
Our  city  government  is  grand — 

"  Ner  is  they  better  farmin'-land 
Sun-kissed  " — as  Tom  goes  on  and  says — 

"  Er  dower'd  with  sich  advantages!  " 
And  I've  come  back,  with  welcome  tread, 
From  journeyin's  vain,  as  I  have  said, 
To  settle  down  in  ca'm  content, 
And  cuss  the  towns  where  I  have  went, 
And  brag  on  ourn,  and  boast  and  strut 
Around  the  streets  o'  Terry  Hut! 
182 


LEEDLE  DUTCH  BABY 

LEEDLE  Dutch  baby  haff  come  ter  town ! 
Jabber  und  jump  till  der  day  gone  down — 
Jabber  und  sphlutter  und  sphlit  hees  jaws — 
Vot  a  Dutch  baby  dees  Londsmon  vas! 
I  dink  dose  mout'  vas  leedle  too  vide 
Ober  he  laugh  fon  dot  altso-side ! 
Haff  got  blenty  off  deemple  und  vrown  ? — 
Hey !  leedle  Dutchman  come  ter  town ! 

Leedle  Dutch  baby,  I  dink  me  proud 
Ober  your  fader  can  schquall  dot  loud 
Ven  he  vas  leedle  Dutch  baby  like  you 
Und  yoost  don't  gare,  like  he  alvays  do ! — 
Guess  ven  dey  vean  him  on  beer,  you  bet 
Dot's  der  because  dot  he  aind  veaned  yet! — 
Vot  you  said  off  he  dringk  you  down  ? — 
Hey!  leedle  Dutchman  come  ter  town! 
'83 


LEEDLE    DUTCH    BABY 

Leedle  Dutch  baby,  yoost  schquall  avay — 
Schquall  fon  preakfast  till  gisterday! 
Better  you  all  time  gry  und  shout 
Dan  shmile  me  vonce  fon  der  coffin  out! 
Vot  I  gare  off  you  keek  my  nose 
Downside-up  mit  your  heels  und  toes — 
Downside,  oder  der  oopside-down  ? — 
Hey!   leedle  Dutchman  come  ter  town! 


184 


DOWN  ON  WRIGGLE  CRICK 

^Best  time  to  kill  a  hog's  -when  he's  fat." — OLD  SAW. 

MOSTLY,  folks  is  law-abidin' 

Down  on  Wriggle  Crick, — 
Seein'  they's  no  Squire  residin' 

In  our  bailywick ; 
No  grand  juries,  no  suppeenies, 

Ner  no  vested  rights  to  pick 
Out  yer  man,  jerk  up  and  jail  ef 

He's  outragin'  Wriggle  Crick! 

Wriggle  Crick  hain't  got  no  lawin', 

Ner  no  suits  to  beat ; 
Ner  no  court-house  gee-and-hawin' 

'Like  a  County-seat; 
Hain't  no  waitin'  round  fer  verdicks, 

Ner  non-gittin'  witness-fees ; 
Ner  no  thiefs  'at  gits  "new  hearin's," 

By  some  lawyer  slick  as  grease ! 
185 


DOWN    ON    WRIGGLE    CRICK 

Wriggle  Cricks's  leadin'  spirit 

Is  old  Johnts  Culwell, — 
Keeps  post-office,  and  right  near  it 

Owns  what's  called  "The  Grand  Hotel" — 
(Warehouse  now) — 'buys  wheat  and  ships  it; 

Gits  out  ties,  and  trades  in  stock, 
And  knows  all  the  high-toned  drummers 

'Twixt  South  Bend  and  Mishawauk'. 

Last  year  comes  along  a  feller — 

Sharper  'an  a  lance — 
Stovepipe-hat  and  silk  umbreller, 

And  a  boughten  all-wool  pants, — 
Tinkerin'  of  clocks  and  watches; 

Says  a  trial's  all  he  wants — 
And  rents  out  the  tavern-office 

Next  to  Uncle  Johnts. 

Well. — He  tacked  up  his  k'dentials, 

And  got  down  to  biz. — 
Captured  Johnts  by  cuttin'  stenchils 

Fer  them  old  wheat-sacks  o'  his. — 


186 


DOWN   ON    WRIGGLE    CRICK 

Fixed  his  clock,  in  the  post-office — 
Painted  fer  him,  clean  and  slick, 

'Crost  his  safe,  in  gold-leaf  letters, 
"  J.  Culwells's  Wriggle  Crick." 

Any  kindo'  job  you  keered  to 

Resk  him  with,  and  bring, 
He'd  fix  fer  you — jest  appeared  to 

Turn  his  hand  to  anything! — 
Rings,  er  earbobs,  er  umbrellers — 

Glue  a  cheer  er  chany  doll, — 
W'y,  of  all  the  beatin'  fellers, 

He  jest  beat  'em  all ! 

Made  his  friends,  but  wouldn't  stop  there,- 

One  mistake  he  learnt 
That  was,  sleepin'  in  his  shop  there. — 

And  one  Sund'y  night  it  burnt  1 
Come  in  one  o'  jest  a-sweepin' 

All  the  whole  town  high  and  dry — - 
And  that  feller,  when  they  waked  him, 

Suffocatin',  mighty  nigh! 

187 


DOWN    ON    WRIGGLE    CRICK 

Johnts  he  drug  him  from  the  buildin', 

He'pless — Beared  to  be, — 
And  the  women  and  the  childern 

Drenchin'  him  with  sympathy! 
But  I  noticed  Johnts  helt  on  him 

With  a'  extry  lovin'  grip, 
And  the  men-folks  gethered  round  him 

In  most  warmest  pardnership ! 

That's  the  whole  mess,  grease-and-dopin' ! 

Johnt's  safe  was  saved, — 
But  the  lock  was  found  sprung  open, 

And  the  inside  caved. 
Was  no  trial — ner  no  jury — 

Ner  no  jedge  ner  court-house-click. — 
Circumstances  alters  cases 

Down  on  Wriggle  Crick! 


188 


WHEN  DE  FOLKS  IS  GONE 

WHAT  dat  scratchin'  at  de  kitchin  do'  ? 

Done  heah'n  dat  fob  an  hour  er  mo' ! 

Tell  you,  Mr.  Niggah,  das  sho's  yo'  bo'n, 

Hit's  mighty  lonesome  waitin'  when  de  folks  is  gone ! 

Blame  my  trap!   how  de  wind  do  blow! 
An'  dis  is  das  de  night  fob  de  witches,  sho' ! 
Dey's  trouble  gon'  to  waste  when  de  old  slut  whine, 
An'  you  heah  de  cat  a-spittin'  when  de  moon  don't 
shine ! 

Chune  my  fiddle,  an'  de  bridge  go  "bang!" 
An'  I  lef '  'er  right  back  whah  she  allus  hang, 
An'  de  tribble  snap  short  an'  de  apern  split 
When  dey  no  mortal  man  wah  a-tetchin'  hit ! 

Dah!     Now,  what?     How  de  ole  j'ice  cracks! 
'Spec'  dis  house,  ef  hit  tell  plain  fac's, 
'Ud  talk  about  de  ha'nts  wid  dey  long  tails  on 
What  das'n't  on'y  come  when  de  folks  is  gone ! 
189 


WHEN    DE    FOLKS    IS    GONE 


What  I  tuk  an'  done  ef  a  sho'-nuff  ghos' 
Pop  right  up  by  de  ole  bed-pos'  ? 
What  dat  shinin'  fru  de  front  do'  crack?  .   . 
God  bress  de  Lo'd!  hit's  de  folks  got  backl 


190 


THE  LITTLE  TOWN  O'  TAILHOLT 

You  kin  boast  about  yer  cities,  and  their  stiddy  growth 
and  size, 

And  brag  about  yer  County-seats,  and  business  enter- 
prise, 

And  railroads,  and  factories,  and  all  sich  foolery — 

But  the  little  Town  o'  Tailholt  is  big  enough  fer  me! 

You  kin  harp  about  yer  churches,  with  their  steeples  in 

the  clouds, 
And  gas  about  yer  graded  streets,  and  blow  about  yer 

crowds ; 
You  kin  talk  about  yer  "/heaters,"  and  all  you've  got 

to  see — 
But  the  little  Town  o'  Tailholt  is  show  enough  fer  me ! 

They  hain't  no  style  in  our  town — hit's  little-like  and 

small — 
They  hain't  no  "  churches,"  nuther, — jes'  the  meetin'- 

house  is  all ; 

191 


THE    LITTLE    TOWN    O'    TAILHOLT 

They's  no  sidewalks,  to  speak  of — but  the  highway's 

allus  free, 
And  the  little  Town  o'  Tailholt  is  wide  enough  fer  me ! 

Some  find  it  discommodin'-like,  I'm  willin'  to  admit, 
To  hev  but  one  post-office,  and  a  womern  keepin'  hit, 
And  the  drug-store,  and  shoe-shop,  and  grocery,  all 

three — 
But  the  little  Town  o'  Tailholt  is  handy  'nough  fer  me! 

You  kin  smile  and  turn  yer  nose  up,  and  joke  and  hev 

yer  fun, 
And  laugh  and  holler  "  Tail-holts  is  better  holts'n 

none!  " 
Ef  the  city  suits  you  better,  w'y,  hit's  where  you'd  ort'o 


But  the  little  Town  o'  Tailholt's  good  enough  fer  me ! 


192 


LITTLE  ORPHANT  ANNIE 

LITTLE  Orphant  Annie's  come  to  our  house  to  stay, 
An'  wash  the  cups  an'  saucers  up,  an'  brush  the  crumbs 

away, 
An'  shoo  the  chickens  off  the  porch,  an'  dust  the  hearth, 

an'  sweep, 
An'  make  the  fire,  an'  bake  the  bread,  an'  earn  her  board- 

an'-keep ; 

An'  all  us  other  childern,  when  the  supper  things  is  done, 
We  set  around  the  kitchen  fire  an'  has  the  mostest  fun 
A-15st'nin'  to  the  witch-tales  'at  Annie  tells  about, 
An'  the  Gobble-uns  'at  gits  you 
Ef  you 
Don't 

Watch 
Out! 


LITTLE    ORPHANT    ANNIE 

Onc't  they  was  a  little  boy  wouldn't  say  his  prayers, — 
An'  when  he  went  to  bed  at  night,  away  up  stairs, 
His  Mammy  heerd  him  holler,  an'  his  Daddy  heerd  him 

bawl, 
An'  when  they  turn't  the  kivvers  down,  he  wasn't  there 

at  all ! 
An'  they  seeked  him  in  the  rafter-room,  an'  cubby-hole, 

an'  press, 
An'  seeked  him  up  the  chimbly-flue,  an'  ever'wheres,  I 

guess ; 

But  all  they  ever  found  was  thist  his  pants  an'  rounda- 
bout:— 

An'  the  Gobble-uns  '11  git  you 
Ef  you 
Don't 

Watch 
Out! 

An'  one  time  a  little  girl  'ud  allus  laugh  and  grin, 
An'  make  fun  of  ever'one,  an'  all  her  blood  an'  kin ; 


194 


LITTLE    ORPHANT 

An'  onc't,  when  they  was  "company,"   an'  ole  folks 

was  there, 
She  mocked  'em  an'  shocked  'em,  an'  said  she  didn't 

care! 
An'  thist  as  she  kicked  her  heels,  an'  turn't  to  run  an' 

hide. 
They  was  two  great  big  Black  Things  a-standin'  by  her 

side, 
An'  they  snatched  her  through  the  ceilin'  'fore  she 

knowed  what  she's  about! 
An'  the  Gobble-uns  '11  git  you 
Ef  you 
Don't 

Watch 
Out! 

An'  little  Orphant  Annie  says,  when  the  blaze  is  blue, 
An'  the  lamp-wick  sputters,  an*  the  wind  goes  ivoo-oo/ 
An'  you  hear  the  crickets  quit,  an'  the  moon  is  gray, 
An'  the  lightnin'-bugs  in  dew  is  all  squenched  away, — 


'95 


LITTLE    ORPHANT    ANNIE 

You  better  mind  yer  parents,  an'  yer  teachers  fond  an' 

dear, 
An'  churish  them  'at  loves  you,  an'  dry  the  orphant's 

tear, 

An'  he'p  the  pore  an'  needy  ones  'at  clusters  all  about 
Er  the  Gobble-uns  '11  git  you 
Ef  you 
Don't 

Watch 
Outl 


196 


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